


Not on my watch

by LondonRiver16



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abusive John Winchester, Angst, Corporal Punishment, Domestic Discipline, Gen, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt Sam Winchester, John Winchester Not Being an Asshole, Parental Bobby Singer, Protective Bobby Singer, Protective Dean Winchester, Rebel Dean Winchester, Rebel Sam Winchester, Spanking, belt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-05
Updated: 2020-03-18
Packaged: 2020-11-24 08:35:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 18
Words: 43,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20904731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LondonRiver16/pseuds/LondonRiver16
Summary: When he opened the Impala, he allowed himself a moment to observe how Sam had messed it up and he sighed, dejected: his brother was soaked to the skin from head to toe. Under the thick wool blanket that a firefighter had wrapped him in, his summer clothes were dripping as much as his hair locks and the teenager was shaking badly because of the bitter cold that had leaked in his bones. His hands, purple, were holding on tight to the edges of the blanket; his feet, covered only by socks that by then looked like chewed seaweed, had never stopped rubbing against each other in a useless attempt to retrieve at least a glint of heat."We fed him for sixteen years for nothing", Dean had thought implacably when, not an hour before, he had understood in what kind of trouble Sam had got into.





	1. The bet

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Not on my watch](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/525014) by LondonRiver16. 

  


Dean stopped the car just in time not to crash into the gate of the porch. The hard braking was like a shriek, able to lacerate the serenity of the night like a dagger with a silk voile, and the boy cursed himself not to have looked before leaping. He could have thought about it. Be cautious. Park faraway, so he would racket less.

\- Shit - he whispered, as if a single word could make up for the mistake, tearing the keys away from the car before glancing at the house, troubled.

If someone had been there, he thought, by then the harsh slamming on the brakes of the Impala would have woken them up. But no light had been turned on, everything stayed still despite the fact that Dean felt his heart beat madly against a ribcage that threatened an explosion. Maybe the habitation was really still empty.

\- Okay - he murmured, more to reassure himself than his passenger. - Okay, let's go.

With a remarkable leap, if you considered his training as a hunter, he got out of the Impala, closed the car door with all the gracefulness he was capable of and reached the passenger car door with few rapid steps, never ceasing to throw agitated glances at the silent house.

When he opened the Impala, he allowed himself a moment to observe how Sam had messed it up and he sighed, dejected: his brother was soaked to the skin from head to toe. Under the thick wool blanket that a firefighter had wrapped him in, his summer clothes were dripping as much as his hair locks and the teenager was shaking badly because of the bitter cold that had leaked in his bones. His hands, purple, were holding on tight to the edges of the blanket; his feet, covered only by socks that by then looked like chewed seaweed, had never stopped rubbing against each other in a useless attempt to retrieve at least a glint of heat.

_We fed him for sixteen years for nothing_, Dean had thought implacably when, not an hour before, he had understood in what kind of trouble Sam had got into.

But the instant his brother had fallen in front of him, drenched and without his _shoes, _although fresh from a dive in the deepest and most dangerous stretch of the river, his heart had softened to the point that Dean could not do anything but hug him. The look of terror with which Sam had accompanied the firefighter's story, thanks to whom Dean had got to know everything, had persuaded the older to discern his priority. And surprisingly this was not all about slapping Sam in the face until he forgot his own name.

Once he got to know about the party and about the alcohol level that had been found in Sam's blood as well as in his friends' - his fellows in suicidal attempts into the freezing current, they should have been called -, Dean had given his younger brother an exasperated glance. But then he had begged the firefighter to let the troublemaker go back home with him without going through the police station. Both Dean and Sam knew what that would have meant: Sam would not have been authorized to leave if not in the company of a guardian, and Dean could not have looked like one in front of a suspicious police officer. They would have had to wait for John to be located and to deign to go get his younger son.

_If he believes it's worth it_, had pondered Dean, remembering that time when his father had been able to leave him in the hands of the authorities for two months in order to punish him for stealing food.

\- Please, let me take him home - he had implored, turning to the kindness he had caught sight of in the young volunteer's eyes. He had contributed to saving the whole careless gang. - He fucked up, I know, but he is a good boy. He will never do that again, believe me. Won't you, Sam?

His brother had nodded vehemently, distributing small river drops all around.

\- It's the standard procedure, boys - the firefighter had resisted.

So Dean was not ashamed to grab his hand.

\- I beg you - he had emphasized. - His father... our father wouldn't let him get away with it if he had to pick him up at the police station. Please.

Sensitive to the urgency he could see in his eyes, the firefighter had finally given in.

\- All right - he had sighed, placing a hand on Sam's back to slightly push him towards Dean. - If you promise you'll have him checked out by a doctor.

\- I promise! - Dean had exclaimed, already guiding his brother towards the Impala, which had been parked nearby. - Thank you so much, sir, thank you!

He had waited to be in the car to dump a liberating slap on the back of the sixteen-year-old's head.

\- What the fuck, Sam?!

\- Sorry, Dean - he had answered, already sobbing in the middle of all that uncontrollable tremor. - S-sorry...

\- Alright, your explanation is postponed. I got to take you back home and get you to bed before dad comes home, or else...

He hadn't even found the strength or the courage to complete the sentence, but he had started driving with anger to get away from that damned bend of the river as fast as possible.

\- I-I'm s-sorry, Dean, I-I'm sorry...

Sam's hiccups had followed the way of the Impala until the cold had prevailed over the guilt. And there he was, his little brother. Home again, yes, but on the verge of pneumonia. Dean swallowed empty, scrutinizing his brother and praying for the best.

_Damn you and your fucking friends, Sam_, he cursed silently before helping the sixteen-year-old to get back on his feet.

\- Come on, little brother - he urged him, placing his arm around Sam's shoulders and pulling him, trying to be firm to combat his trembling. - I will never be able to lift you up completely, so come on, one step at a time. Only up to the bedroom. Come, Sammy.

He spoke to him with the sweetest tone he knew, worried sick that his strength could fail at any moment. The effects of the thermal shock were scary. Sam's skin was cold and wet, his lips were livid and constantly moving. Dean had to avoid looking at his face in order not to feel bad for him, so he concentrated on their feet.

\- The porch steps, Sam... good. Now I need my hands to open the door, you hold on to me, okay? Come on.

They were home at last. Dean turned on the light in the lobby and closed the door behind their them before taking his brother's hand to the handrail.

\- All right, only the stairs left. You can do this.

He was aware that he was comforting himself as much as Sam, in that situation. The agitation and the struggles had started to make him sweat and he was looking forward to get his brother back on track with a hot shower, tuck him in, make him drink some warm broth and maybe also a paracetamol to catch the fever off guard.

The house was quiet, beyond their shortness of breath, and dark as it had seemed from outside. It was also for this that, when the light in the living room was suddenly turned on, Dean felt like ten years of his life had just gone down the drain. But that was nothing compared to the appearance of a stoic figure on the living room doorstep.

\- Where have you two been? - his father started off, with arrows in place of eyes.

Dean, still on the second step with a barely conscious Sam, thought he was about to start yelling as never before. But as soon as John's eyes met his younger son, wrath was replaced by panic.

\- What happened? - he breathed.

Dean understood that, once again, exhaustive explanations could wait. His father, at that moment, was fearing for Sam as much as he was.

\- The river - he only said. - He's freezing, dad, we have to...

\- Upstairs - the man sentenced, finally rushing to lift Sam and nod curtly to his eldest son. - Turn on the warm water, hurry. Run!

Dean sprang like the good soldier he was, leaving his father's heavy steps behind to get upstairs, slip into the bathroom and turn on the shower.

  


  



	2. The guilt

John arrived and sat Sam on the only stool they had in the bathroom, ordering Dean to assist him in taking off Sam's soaking wet clothes. Realizing that Sam's eyes were shut and his limbs heavy, John slapped his youngest son in the face several times, even though without much conviction.

\- Sam. Sam! Wake up! Sam! Pull yourself together, damn it!

A harder smack made the sixteen-year-old flinch before he nodded and got help for taking off his t-shirt, which was followed by socks, jeans and boxers. Dean swallowed while assisting his brother in entering the shower, but he was careful enough to avoid the look on his father's face. Even when the man spoke to him, once Sam was under the jet of hot water and the two of them knelt beside the shower.

\- Who rescued him?

\- The firefighters.

\- Do they know his full name?

\- No, sir.

\- Are you absolutely sure?

\- Yes, sir.

Dean heard John sigh in relief just when Sam's chills began toning down, and bit his lower lip. His father was glad, so to speak, for their cover not to have been blown. Or rather that Sam had drawn the attention without consequences for the man's job. It was the same reason why he would not have taken his son to the hospital, as long as he hadn't been forced to.

As soon as he realized that the colour on Sam's cheeks was now more similar to human complexion's than bluish, John got back on his feet and stared at his oldest son from above.

\- Make sure he warms up for good, then help him get to bed. I'll go making something warm for him.

Dean nodded, keeping his eyes on the expression on his brother's face. It now seemed less suffering and almost only exhausted. But that was not enough for his father.

\- Dean - the man called him, requiring his son's eyes to meet his. - Once you're done with him, I'll be waiting for you in the living room. I want you to report.

Dean swallowed again. He had hoped his father would have had mercy on _his_ fatigue too.

\- Tonight? - he dared to ask, but when John glared at him he bowed his head obediently. - Yes, sir.

The man was about to march out of the bathroom when an unexpected hummer from Sam made him wait. Fast, Dean bent over his brother, who was crouched on the bottom of the shower, uneasy.

\- Did you say something, Sammy?

Sam took a deep breath, however difficult was doing it between gasps, but then he opened his eyes and looked for John Winchester's scowl.

\- It's my fault. The... the fault is mine - he stuttered in a broken whisper. - Don't get an- don't get angry with Dean.

Dean managed to catch a glimpse of his father's reaction to Sam's words, but the man almost didn't show any. John Winchester got back on his way without a sound, leaving his sons wondering what was crossing his mind.

_He is mad like a beast_, Dean forced himself to remember. _It's useless to hope for him not to be._

After an amount of time that expanded to his senses, Dean gave the thermometer to his brother so he could take his own temperature.

\- 97,7 - Dean then read on the display, feeling his heart deflate with all his concern in a single spasm. - Perfect. Oh God, I can hardly believe it.

Sam, jaded as he was, shrugged at the sight of his joy and accepted his brother's help to get out of the cubicle. He managed to get dry and wear his pyjamas by himself, but preferred to rely on his brother's arm on the way to the room they shared. As soon as he pressed the light switch, Dean noticed the extra blankets that had been left on Sam's bed - the one on the end, tacked to the wall, close to the window -, the heating pad lying next to his pillow and the steaming cup on his bedside table, next to the abat jour lamp and the legal thriller Sam had been reading since the end of April.

\- Dad took care of everything - Dean told his brother, trying to comfort him after the experience of hypothermia Sam had escaped from by miracle. - You're going to be fine, you'll see.

Sam proved to be extraordinarily docile while slipping under the covers and sipping at least some of the warm broth when his brother insisted. Dean thought he felt guilty for the havoc he had created at that time of night and he got confirmation a few minutes later.

\- Dean, I'm so sorry.

\- I know - the other replied instinctively.

\- It was so foolish of me, I... I shouldn't have taken that bet, jumping into the water was dumb...

\- Yes, it was - Dean confirmed with a tired smile, both to calm him down and to stop that stream of words. - But now I want you to stick to getting your strength back only. We'll talk about this story when I am sure you are all right.

Sam was about to object, but Dean's firmness made him nod unwillingly. Anyway, the ceasefire only lasted as long as the blink of an eye, because Dean immediately found himself to be the victim of the youngest's eyes, now wet of held tears.

\- Dean, I swear, _I swear to you_, I would never have sneaked out had I known Dad would have been back this very evening.

\- Oh, and is this your way of telling me you respect _my_ authority? - Dean replied, raising an eyebrow but without emphasizing the sarcastic edge.

Now that Sam looked alive again, the relief encouraged the oldest to joke about what had happened, but his brother was serious as hell.

\- No, I meant... I don't want him to blame you, but he... Dean, you tell him that this was all my fault, that I asked for it and that it has nothing to do with you.

\- Sam.

\- Please.

\- All right - Dean lied, grumbling. - Only if that means you are now going to chill out and sleep. Do we have a deal?

Sam studied his brother's eyes for a while, then he nodded reluctantly. He didn't exactly have a choice.

\- Finally! - Dean exclaimed, opening his arms with an exasperated look before reaching out to ruffle his little brother's hair. - Get some rest. You'll have a lot of explaining to do tomorrow, Dad or no Dad. You scared the hell out of me, you dumbass.

The twenty-year-old was already on the doorstep and was about to turn off the light in the room when Sam's voice made him wait.

\- Yes?

\- Thanks for picking me up. For sparing me the police station and... for fishing me out of ice.

Dean parted his lips slightly, unsure in front of that grateful puppy look Sam had been carrying with him since his childhood. He wanted to say "Don't thank me yet. I still have no idea how I'm going to save your ass from Dad, this time". But he eventually forced himself to put a smile on his lips.

\- No need to thank me, bitch.

\- Jerk - the sixteen-year-old mumbled clearly.

\- Goodnight, Sammy.

He finally turned off the light, closed the door a little. He then changed his mind and closed it cautiously before breathing in all the air his lungs were able to bear and heading towards the stairs. His father was waiting for him downstairs and to Dean it appeared as though the air around him was already sizzling.

  


  



	3. The fault

  


As promised, John was waiting for him in the living room. He was sitting on his armchair - Dean and Sam always got the sofa for themselves, when they were watching TV altogether -, but in a deliberately uncomfortable position, as if he was about to stand up. With his elbows on his knees, interlaced fingers and his lips pressed on them as if in prayer, he didn't move a muscle when Dean appeared on the threshold. But he turned his military scowl to him and the boy instinctively lifted up his chin and straightened his back.

\- If I understood at least a part of the events of tonight, I guess you must be as exhausted as your brother - the man began, and he was the ostensible emblem of calm. - But I need to know _now_ what the hell happened and first I want to hear it from you, given Sam's state.

\- Yes, sir - Dean nodded.

\- Then I can think about it tonight. And tomorrow I'm going to listen to what your brother has to say about it before figuring out what I'm supposed to do with the two of you.

\- Yes, sir - Dean repeated, swallowing a moment before breaking the promise he had made Sam. - It was my fault.

\- Look into my eyes when addressing me, boy - he demanded, and Dean obeyed instantly, sensing the vibrant note of his reprimand. - Why are you telling me it was your fault?

His father wasn't trying to encourage him. He was simply digging to achieve the truth.

\- I was on watch. You had left the house and rules administration and Sam's safety in my hands - Dean summed up. - It seems obvious to me that I failed at keeping Sam safe, like you could see, so the blame is on me. It happened on my watch.

John Winchester allowed himself a long and deep breath before replying and Dean started to feel his sweat wet the palm of his hand which was holding the other behind his back. He hated those waits more than any other moment of the relationship with his father.

\- On one hand I'm glad you are willing to take your responsibility without hesitation - the man stated. - But you have always been like this, haven't you? On the other hand, your attempt to hide your brother's with equal ease upsets me.

\- I'm not trying to...

\- Don't. Interrupt. Me - his father made him freeze, while his knuckles whitened in warning.

Dean got a lump in his throat. - I apologize, sir.

\- Your brother is sixteen. He is going to take the blame he's entitled to and face the consequences - Regardless of Dean's disorientation, the man went on: - And now tell me the facts. And be very careful, Dean. You know I can understand when you're lying.

\- Yeah - the boy exhaled, helpless.

He took a moment to clear his voice, to consider how to set the story so that Sam could come clean, but he soon understood that there was no way he could win. His father wouldn't have taken his eyes off him and would have kept Dean there, standing, until he was sure that every single word coming out of his mouth matched what had really happened.

\- We had dinner early, around seven thirty. Then I started washing the dishes while Sam was doing his homework here in the living room. After that, I went straight to the shower. I can't say I remember checking on Sam before going to the bathroom.

\- Go on - John nodded, focused.

\- Only after I got dressed I understood he had disappeared. I called him to ask what he wanted to watch on TV and realized there was no trace of him in the whole house - Dean complied, feeling sick when the memory of that inner emptiness came back to struck him once again. For an instant he had been unable to move or just formulate a useful thought. - But there was no sign of a struggle and his keys and his shoes were missing. I ran outside and while I took the Impala out of the courtyard I strove to remember his friends' addresses.

His father didn't seem to admire or even notice his effort to learn them all by heart. He kept staring at him with the same harsh and inscrutable look on his face, waiting for him to go on.

\- To cut it short, I found out they had organized a party in someone's garden.

His father interrupted him dryly: - Has your brother been drinking?

Dean shrugged, trying not to be caught off guard but not to get too defensive either: - There were some empty beer cans on that lawn, but Sam knows he must not drink.

\- He also happens to know he must not sneak out, doesn't he? - John Winchester insisted, narrowing his eyes. - The truth, Dean.

\- All right - the twenty-year-old capitulated. - All right, the firefighter said... yes, he has been drinking. Breathalyzer came up positive for everybody after...

\- After what?

His father had leaned forward so much that he was closer than ever to fall off the edge of his armchair. Dean bit his lip vigorously, but he could not resist for more than a few seconds.

\- After they were fished out of the river they had dived into.

His parent flinched, shocked.

\- Let me understand - he articulated only after a few seconds. - Sam dived into the river of his own free will?

Dean nodded yes, shifting his weight from one leg to the other. Standing was getting uncomfortable.

\- They all did. Sam and the other three kids. They are all okay, anyway, besides the cold they caught, and...

Once again, the man interrupted him with a tired growl: - Why?

If Dean felt the need to become smaller in front of that burning gaze, he could only imagine what would have been Sam's reaction the day after.

\- They had made a bet - he confessed in a low voice, by contrast.

His father's disbelief didn't last long, as it was soon replaced by blind rage. The man jumped on his feet and pointed his finger at his eldest son. Dean could see the vein on his forehead and neck throbbing alarmingly and had to keep from taking a step back when his father moved forward with shaky hands.

\- You're telling me - he hissed, - that your brother almost _died_ because of a _bet_?

Dean swallowed, with his throat parched but feeling a vivid urge to protect Sam.

\- I suppose he only wanted to be accepted by his friends, Dad - he said sincerely, though he thought his brother had acted like an idiot. - He just pulled a stunt, nothing else, don't...

\- A stunt, as you call it, that could have cost him his life!

Dean bit his lip hard in front of that yelling and could not avoid lowering his gaze.

\- Now he's here, home, he's fine and this is the only thing that matters - he barely managed to say.

When Dean lifted his head, his father had stopped in the middle of the living room, between the sofa and the TV, and was looking at him as if persuaded that at least half of his education had gone up in smoke. At least he was not so red-faced anymore, Dean took some comfort, even if his wrists were still shaking.

\- No, Dean - the man said. - That is not the only thing that matters and you should know it. It's important, it's _essential_ for him to realize what he did and to learn not to disobey me ever again in such a debauched way. There is his safety, not to mention ours, at stake.

Those eyes took away Dean's ability to breathe for a long instant, just like it had happened when he had come down to the living room, the night before, and hadn't found Sam bent over his physics workbook. If he inflicted himself violence to get his breath back was just to defend that picture.

\- Come on Dad, it's pretty clear that Sam has already been punished enough by that dip in the river...

\- Silence! - the man barked, going back to point his finger at him in warning. - It's not your decision. Now go to sleep. I want to see you both tomorrow in the morning, seven a.m. And you better not start any more trouble.

\- Dad, please - the boy insisted once more, his eyes wide and heart racing because he didn't need to wonder about what would have happened in the kitchen. - Not Sam, he isn't... you can't...

But John Winchester raised his hand to stop him from talking.

\- This is the last warning I concede you, Dean - he roared in a tone that invited no argument. - Go to bed immediately. I don't want to hear no more, for tonight.

The boy bit his lip and squeezed his own hand behind his back. But then he had no choice but to nod, back off and get back upstairs and to his bedroom with his heart just as heavy as his tired legs.

His father would have calmed down during the night, he would have let his fury slide off him so that his final decision could be logical, fair, according to his view of the world. He was always like that. If he could, he always confronted his sons with a cool head, after every breach of the rules. But with what he knew about that view of the world, Dean couldn't help himself but be anxious.

  


  



	4. Sassy

  


The following morning, the twenty-year-old awoke because of the light filtering through the open wide window. The night had been muggy and, as if that wasn't bad enough, the memory of the words with which his father had sent him to bed the night before had made his sleep restless.

With semi-closed eyelids, Dean kicked away the sheets in a huff and sat grunting. After rubbing his eyes with his thumb and index finger, he laid his eyes on Sam's bed: his brother was sleeping with his face turned towards the ceiling, one leg swinging from the mattress and his mouth open. The heating pad and half of the blankets had slipped to the floor during the night. Getting closer, Dean noticed that the sixteen-year-old's forehead was covered with a thin layer of sweat, but when he leaned the palm of his hand on it he found a normal body temperature and thanked heaven.

The night before could as well have been a nightmare and once again his brother was just a teenager dealing with the beginning of the summer. Dean felt bad at the thought of waking him up, but the clock on his bedside table marked ten minutes to seven a.m. and John Winchester didn't need another reason to get irritated.

\- Hey, Sam - he murmured, gently shaking his shoulder. As soon as the sixteen-year-old opened his eyes, Dean smiled automatically. - Hey. How are you feeling?

\- Good - the youngest admitted with a sleepy voice, looking around to make sure he was in his room. - You?

Dean let out an amused snort, facing his brother's pure courtesy.

\- I'm feeling great. Listen, if you're sure you're okay, you gotta get up. Dad wants to have a chat with the both of us.

Something flashed in the boy's eyes, but Dean couldn't find a name for it.

\- Now?

\- Now.

Sam climbed out of bed with an annoyed sigh. As soon as he was sure his brother wouldn't have thrown himself back to sleep, Dean got dressed and preceded him downstairs. He entered an empty kitchen, not to mention floor, and frowned asking himself what was his father's game. When his younger brother joined him, Dean was cooking some eggs in a pan and answered the question in Sam's eyes with a shrug.

\- We might as well have breakfast - he suggested, putting two slices of bread in the toaster. - How would you like a couple of eggs?

Sam crawled to the closest chair, put his elbows on the table and buried his face in his hands before letting out an abstruse noise that Dean took a while to interpret.

\- You want coffee? - he tried, raising an eyebrow toward his brother. - Is that it?

\- Yes - the sixteen-year-old grumbled, sliding with his head on the table and rubbing his temples.

\- It's not a good idea. After yesterday night, you need to eat something.

But Sam didn't get discouraged and went along with his well-trained whiny and shuffling tone. His older brother never had the burden of having to manage him the morning after a hangover, since the experience of last night was probably Sam's first approach to alcohol, but he was starting to think it was worth convincing the sixteen-year-old to become a teetotaler.

\- I couldn't swallow anything, Dean, I feel sick up to my brain.

Dean was about to reply rudely, but, as he was turning around to face the youngest, he stopped with his mouth open and with the wooden spoon he was using to cook half-raised in the air.

\- Just so I understand how far you got, - John began, leaning with one shoulder on the door frame, arms crossed tightly, - how much did you drink exactly last night, Sam?

The boy called into question jumped on his feet as soon as his father's ice-cold voice reached his ears, his eyes wide of fright. The legs of the chair squealed on the floor, Dean switched off the gas under the pan and Sam unconsciously moved some steps toward his brother while the man let his arms down and entered the room. Dean noticed he was wearing shoes and asked himself where he had been and how was it possible that he had not heard him coming.

Though Sam's voice in the silent room was just a breath, it seemed to echo.

\- Dad, I...

\- You left without anyone's permission, worrying your brother sick and forcing him to come looking for you - John Winchester continued, while reaching the table to lean on it with both his hands. Only then he lifted his gaze again to aim his dark eyes, phlegmatic but harsh, at his youngest son's. - You went out to drink and got wasted enough to get to believe a trip in the river could be a good idea - He allowed himself one more break, closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath, as if every sentence hurt him somewhere in his chest. - And you dived in the freezing current for a bet. Has this been referred to me incorrectly?

Dean glanced at his brother, next to him. Sam looked frozen for a moment, but then he swallowed and tried to shake his head.

\- Dad, I didn't mean to...

But he was interrupted peremptorily, without many mannerisms: - Answer my question.

Sam held his breath and moistened his lips, drying the palms of his hands on the jeans' fabric.

\- No, sir. That's all correct.

\- Am I missing something? - his father proceeded. - Is there anything else you have to confess, maybe something Dean couldn't know?

Sam took a look at his brother. It was an instant, he immediately returned to his father's stern eyes and the circles under them, but Dean had enough time to recognize in his irises a spark of challenge that didn't look good.

\- Five beers. Four glasses of wine - indeed, this is what Dean heard Sam blurt out a split second later, and if he refrained from poking him it was only because their father seemed to have no intention to get distracted from his youngest.

Both brothers saw the man rise from the table as if something had stung him, his lips barely curved in an intimidating growl. - I'm warning you, Sam, I'm trying to deal with this with all my patience. But if you're trying to make me madder than I already am...

\- You were the one who asked me how much I drank! - Sam burst out then, raising his hands over his head, catching up with his inner drama queen vibes.

Dean wished he could be a ghost to tell his brother that being a smartass like he was used to do at school, where he was the teachers' pet, or during normal days, when John agreed to limit himself to shout at him to get back in line, was not a good idea. How he longed to step on one of his feet to keep him from getting even more in trouble. A moment later it was obvious that Sam could not read his brother's mind.

\- I just went out to go to a damned party, to spend some time with people of my age, to pretend to be normal, for once! - he kept on going, forgetting that raising his voice in front of their sergeant in command was a very bad move.

\- Oh, don't even try to make me feel sorry for you with your usual speech about the poor teenager who is kept locked in the house while all his peers are having fun, don't you dare - John ordered, adapting to his voice level. - I would have accepted it or at least listened to it if it was just a stunt to party we were talking about, but it seems pretty clear to me you have taken this so much further.

Hearing those words, Sam moistened his lips again and they stayed open because of his rapid breathing.

\- There was nothing, other than that.

\- Oh, wasn't there? And the dip in the river, what was it? A new kind of prom? - his father shouted, now red-faced. - I'm sure your brother already told you that you could have died, but that's not the most appropriate way to say it: you're extremely lucky to be alive!

Dean swallowed and closed his eyes for a moment as he had to revive the panic of the night before.

In any other occasion he would have supposed that, once got to that point and to that degree of shouting from their father, Sam would have found a store of common sense, which would have been useful for him to put his head down and shut that damned mouth. Dean couldn't understand why it was so difficult for his brother to put into practice some self-preservation instinct. Yet that day there was something new in the tension that reigned supreme between the two people who were dearest to him, something that suggested, aired, promised a strenuous opposition from his younger brother.

\- It was just for fun - the sixteen-year-old indeed kept on, exploring new sadistic strategies to rebel without considering the possible consequences. - The water wasn't even that deep and the current wasn't so...

It happened so fast that he had no time to move out of the way. With the resolution that could make him merciless, his father got past the table, reached him with few steps and slapped him hard on his left cheek. The echo of it resonated like a gunshot in the tiny kitchen. Dean winced as if he didn't expect it to happen and watched his brother barely maintain his balance after letting out a cry. The whole scene seemed to last forever, but a moment later Sam was standing in front of his father with the man's fingerprints on his cheek and his eyes full of tears that he was desperately trying to hold back.

Dean's breathing accelerated at that sight, but the twenty-year-old closed his eyes for a moment and squeezed his left wrist with his right hand to withhold his defensive instinct. He was not used to stand up to his father and this time Sam had totally asked for it.

\- Do you wish to argue some more? - John Winchester remarked, raising his arm to indicate an unspecified "out there". - Do you wish to keep on bragging, even after the firefighters fished you out? Even after Dean had to come and pick you up, not to mention trying to save your ass from me? Seeing you in those conditions last night nearly gave me a heart attack!

This time, the first since the argument had started, his words were followed by a silence that could have passed for respectful. Dean didn't believe that Sam had fully given up his idea to play sassy until the end, but at least the smack made him think for a few seconds before talking. But his eyes were burning with anger and shame and his voice, when it came back, however broken, did them justice.

\- I already told Dean - he snarled, his jaw trembling. - I'm sorry I did that. It was nonsense. Now go ahead and ground me for the whole summer.

Dean weighed the heavy silence, trying to hide that he was holding his breath. Sam's attitude hadn't changed and the teenager was staring at his father with his chest going up and down fast, his arms stiff and closed fists, probably hoping to hear soon what he would have had to give up for three months so that he could leave the kitchen slamming the door.

Dean, for his part, was _praying_ for his father to let him do that. More or less knowingly, he had been praying for that since the night before. He wanted nothing more that his father to tell Sam he was forbidden to have TV or any kind of fun outside or _anything_ indefinitely, and then to let his furious son walk away.

Maybe because Dean knew, he had read it in his father's eyes the night before, that John had no intention to let that matter remain unresolved in that way. And Dean would have given anything to avoid what was coming next.

  


  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the kudos, the bookmarks and the comments! They warm my heart :)


	5. Sixteen

  


As soon as Dean saw John Winchester's eyebrows lower, his eyes going deadpan and his voice measured, well calculated in every comma, he was sure about what was happening. Dean knew that combination of factors and where it led to.

\- I am certain you're sorry. At least for your brother - the man said, giving every word the amount of time it needed to fill the space it was entitled to. - But I need you to be more. I need you to fully understand how much and why it is fundamental for a thing like this to never happen again.

Unlike his brother, Sam didn't understand what his father was getting at until he started to take his belt off his pants. That was when the boy opened his eyes wide, took a step back and tried to say something, but his throat had suddenly gone dry. Dean couldn't look at him. Not after abstaining from telling him about that possibility for years.

John Winchester folded the belt and Dean, though chilled to the bone at the thought he would use it on Sam, thanked Heaven. If unfolded, it would have hurt more. His father had shown him just once, when Dean, out of frustration, had made the major mistake of throwing a loaded gun in the air and had almost lost his foot, but that one time had been enough. He was fourteen years old.

His father's tormented sigh was what brought Dean's attention back on him.

\- Come here, Samuel - he ordered, nodding towards the clear table. - We'll make this quick.

Sam didn't move. A feeble and vibrated "What?" escaped his lips in the same instant Dean shuttered in a low voice: - No.

The fact that John didn't show any sign of outburst didn't mean every refusal wasn't pushing him closer and closer to his limit. Once stepped over that he wouldn't have shown any more patience, but for the moment he stayed stoic.

\- You're sixteen. I think it's an appropriate amount to cover the three breaches of the rules you committed and to remind you what's the most appropriate way to talk to your father - His hands strengthened the grip on the belt and the following nod to his youngest son was more resolute. - Come on, or there will be more.

This time Sam recovered faster than Dean.

\- No - he repeated, looking around before going back to his parent's eyes, with the shocked voice of who believes everyone went nuts with a single snap of a finger. - There's no fucking way I'm coming over there.

A growl came out of John Winchester's throat: - Stop it immediately.

Dean saw him taking another step towards his younger brother and he was suddenly aware he could not stay still, quiet and obedient any longer. While Sam blessed his timing, Dean moved forward faster than their father and put a hand on the man's shoulder, drawing the attention of his adamant eyes on him.

\- Dad - he began, biting his lip before starting shaking his head. - Dad, please, don't. Not this, not to Sam.

\- Dean.

\- In the end nothing tragic happened, isn't that true? He's here, he's fine, he apologized. I know he isn't showing you respect - Dean told fast, glancing at Sam furiously. His brother was standing still and guilty behind him, so the twenty-year-old got back to begging his old man. - I know you have to correct him. But not like this.

Kind but unyielding, his father removed his hand.

\- Dean, I already told you. This is not for you to decide.

\- All right, then punish me - the twenty-year-old got back in. - I was on watch when he sneaked out. I should have been the one to block him and to avoid this whole thing to happen, unexpected dive included. It was my responsibility. That thing, use it with me.

When Dean set his gaze on the belt, his father lowered it at the height of his waist before shaking his head.

\- It doesn't work that way and you know it.

\- Why not? It has always worked this way. My responsibility, my mistake, my punishment.

\- You are both going to be punished - the man guaranteed, evidently on the edge of a new explosion of anger. - As for you, I decided that you're going to stay here and watch. Considering how much you care about your brother's safety, and you're proving it even now, seeing him punished will make you more careful next time.

It seemed to Dean that he had to swallow some concrete, but he corrected his posture.

\- All due respect, sir, but treating him like that will have no effect. He won't learn anything.

That comment put an incredulous look on his father's face. He almost smiled, even if Dean was quite sure it was just a nervous tic.

\- Won't he? Tell me one thing, then: did you use to listen to my reproaches and warnings, when I forbade you to take your girlfriends home? Did you use to listen to me, when I repeated that I forbade you for their safety's sake only? What happened after you were scolded, Dean?

The boy expelled the air from his lungs and looked down, knowing what was his father's point.

\- I kept on taking girls home - he admitted, remembering how the urgent need to be a young adult had clouded his sensitivity to his father's screaming.

John Winchester put his belt in front of his nose.

\- And how many sessions with this did you need to convince you not to do it anymore, on the other hand?

\- One - Dean made an effort to answer, looking at the man's eyes beyond the resilient strip of leather in his hand. - Just one, sir.

\- And since then, what have you always kept in mind?

\- That this is not the place for unsuspecting teenage girls - Dean recited.

His father took a deep breath, relaxing a bit in front of his acknowledgments. Dean knew that dealing with him was a lot easier than doing it with Sam, especially for a former Marine, and on one hand he hoped his own acquiescence could come out in favor of his hot-tempered younger brother.

\- Do you understand now? - his father asked Dean. - Your brother didn't simply pull a stunt. He proved he does not have the slightest sense of danger and this is something that neither he nor this whole family can afford. I'm surprised I have to remind you.

\- I know, but...

\- Another thing you should remember is that, in these circumstances, waiting is the worst part - John interrupted him, managing to shut him up with something that Dean did actually remember well.

There was nothing worse than an appointment with his father's belt, except having to postpone the moment when the licks would start. The twenty-year-old took another look at the shock Sam was left drowning into and felt guilty for prolonging his agony. He was about to apologize to him when his father grabbed his arm to have his full attention.

\- Make room for your brother and stop opposing your feelings to what needs to be done to keep us all alive, do you hear me? And don't you dare think it pleases me when I have to discipline you boys like this - he hissed, with a gloomy sadness on the bottom of his dark eyes. - Did I make myself clear?

Dean didn't hesitate any longer.

\- Yes, sir - he said, backing off to put his insubordination back where it had come from.

Had it been up to him, Dean would never have chosen that way to teach Sam anything. But he couldn't avoid seeing his father's reasons and, above all, he couldn't bear the idea of ignoring an order coming from the man he had been looking at with admiration and respect his whole life. His father knew what he was doing. However hard and painful it had been for him, he had made the right decisions with Dean and now he would have done the same with his youngest son, if that meant training him to stay alert and hang onto his life.

John Winchester moved some more steps towards the kitchen table.

\- Let's get this over with, Sam.

This time Dean glanced at his brother in a way that wasn't too different from their father's, even if at the bottom of it there was still sympathy and a prayer. A prayer for him to quit beating around the bush. But Sam had still the same frightened and stubborn look on his face and shook his head slowly but firmly.

\- No way - he remarked.

Dean looked at him harshly, but all he wished was to have the permission to yell at him.

_Unless you go over there fast and of your own free will, it's gonna be worse, so much worse._

He was about to say something, when the whole situation moved without him. His father seemed to have seen his limit crossed for good and to be ready to burst into a new tsunami of rage, while he began to walk with determination towards his youngest son.

\- I swear to God I'll...

He was able to grab his wrist, but Sam took advantage of his agitation to use his strength of despair and break free skillfully. Before the man could catch him again, then, he headed out of the door running and rushed to the corridor.

Dean shouted before his father: - Sam!

He heard the main door slam violently a blink of an eye before setting off in pursuit. His father followed him to the porch, but then let Dean chase his brother.

Sam was almost as tall as his older brother, by then, and had been proving to have good legs for running since his childhood. When he was a little kid, his numbers on the running track had filled John's heart with pride and relief, because that skill could have saved the boy from whoever would have seen him as a prey. Now, while seeing Sam's figure slip into the woods of the nearby park, Dean found himself cursing at genetics.

\- Sam! - he shouted again, trying not to lose sight of him.

But his brother was a flash of lightning in the midst of the greenery. The good news was, that morning Sam had worn a mustard t-shirt that made him stand out among the trees. The bad news was, he was running like the devil and seemed to have no intention of stopping.

  



	6. Sorry is not enough

  


Sam didn't know how much time had passed when a sharp pain in his spleen forced him to slow down. Even if the decrease of his speed was imperceptible to the human eyes, the boy immediately knew he was screwed. The whole time he had been hearing his brother's breath chasing his just a few meters away and in that instant he had to acknowledge what Dean had been telling him for years now: had he stopped relying on the power of his legs only and bothered to learn how to control his rhythm and respiration, he would have become unattainable.

The thing was, he hadn't. His brother was the one who listened to their father's advice on how to improve their hunting skills, certainly not Sam. Sam had quit striving more than what he needed for his old man to stop being a constant pain in the ass. He had quit many years earlier.

It took another twenty seconds, but then his older brother reached him on a spot where the trees thinned out and the path started to climb the hill towards a lonely playground. When Dean crushed him, the impact plucked every drop of residual oxygen out of Sam's lungs and they both rolled on the lawn for a few meters. Sam heard his brother groan and supposed he had bumped his head against some rock. But when his own head stopped spinning and the sixteen-year-old was able to stand again, Dean was there and gripped his arm before Sam's muscles were ready to resume his flight.

\- Son of a bitch! - the oldest shouted, with his eyes popping out of his head. The rhythm of his breathing made Sam think about an imminent death, but some way he was still able to bark at him. - How can you possibly not understand that all you're doing is pissing him off more?

Sam hadn't wasted time thinking about what Dean would have told him, but those words increased the fury in his chest and despite the heat, the sweat, the fatigue, he too found enough wind to protest.

\- More? More than this? For Christ's sake, what else could he threaten me with?

He shook his arm violently to break free from his brother's grasp and Dean let him go. Sam would have liked to think he was stronger, but the truth was that they were too devastated to start running again - and they both knew that. They didn't stop scrutinizing each other for a single moment while they competed for the oxygen in that corner of the park, Sam wary as a ferret and Dean in a miserable attempt to calm down. Finally the oldest took the floor first, while bending on his knees to reduce the pain in his chest.

\- Trust me, Sam - he said in a hoarse voice, raising an eyebrow. - You better cut it out with this rebelling thing.

All he managed to obtain was a fairly shocked look on his brother's face and Sam raising his arms in the air in a fit of arrogance.

\- Are you fucking kidding me? Are you out of your mind as much as he is? - he burst out. - I don't want to... I can't... I can't believe you're taking his side in this!

Dean stared at him for a long moment, eye to eye, before lowering his gaze to the ground, spitting and getting his attention back on Sam only after raising to an upright position.

\- Listen, I don't agree with what he wants to do. I would never. I'm not taking his side nor yours, I'm on this family's side. I love you, you know that, but I respect Dad. Besides, you were there too, you heard him. You heard what we said.

Now there was something sweet in Dean's voice and Sam let that note of comprehension settle around them before finding the courage to talk about what he had actually heard.

\- I heard he already did to you what he wants to do to me - he swallowed.

\- Yes, he did - Dean admitted, without avoiding his eyes. - Few times, when he really couldn't see another way to deal with me. When it was necessary to make me understand what I refused to see. And I'm sorry I have to tell you now and this way, but it helped me and it's going to help you too.

Once again the eldest's voice turned authoritative and Sam felt sick to his stomach. Anyway, he tried to keep calm and be rational, even when he felt his left cheekbone quiver while he shook his head slightly.

\- I already apologized - he managed to object, asking himself when he would have been able to start running again.

\- It's not the same thing - his brother replied cautiously. - I know you're sorry, but what you did yesterday still looks like a silly little thing, in your eyes. Something every sixteen-year-old can do every other week. Well, I know you don't want to hear this, but you're not just the regular teenager. You have to be very careful with your behavior and you know it, you were taught to. You know the threats of this worlds more than any of your peers and this comes with responsibilities - Dean paused so the boy could recognize he was right, but Sam fixed his gaze on the ground at his feet, his mouth crooked in a smirk that was close to crying. So Dean continued: - You could have killed yourself, Sammy. And unless you fully understand your mistakes, unless you repent for real, you're gonna run into this all over again. And next time you could have this impulse at the wrong time, when we'll have some beast after us. Unless you internalize the rules, unless you learn them by heart like I did, you could put all our lives at risk. Yours, mine, Dad's. This is what Dad was trying to tell you.

The silence that followed lasted less than what it needed for the message to sink in. With his breathing fastened by anger, this time, Sam lifted his head up just to throw his resentment at his brother.

\- You're definitely out of your mind - he declared, trembling. - You two are psycho cases, you hear me? I'm going to report him to the police for abuse, that sick bastard, I won't let him touch me! I'm gonna tell them what he did to you! How many times did it happen? How old were you?

Dean let out an angry cry, lashing the air around him with his arm while he rolled his eyes and assumed his typical expression that was meant to say "God, kill me now and spare me from listening to any more bullshit".

\- Does it really matter? - he finally chose to reply, moistening his lips and opening his arms toward his little brother. - Do you want to destroy this family? Because that's what it's going to happen if you decide to shirk you responsibilities and go to the police.

A nervous grin slipped out of the sixteen-year-old's lips.

\- Shirk my responsibilities. Sure - he repeated with an unhappy smirk. - How old were you? Why didn't you tell me anything?

Dean counter-attacked looking at him with a combination of accusation and derision in his green eyes.

\- Because I didn't want to upset you unnecessarily. Because even back then I knew you always make a lot of fuss about nothing.

\- Nothing? - Sam raised his voice again, clearly disgusted. - Our father used to hit you with a belt and you're accusing me to be the one who sees trouble over nothing? That man brainwashed you! You don't know what you're saying!

He had been keeping an eye on the path climbing up to the top of the hill for several seconds by then, thinking his brother hadn't noticed. But Dean's next look made it clear that, if only Sam had tried to spring forward, he would have jumped to his ankles in an instant before knocking him down again. Sam grumbled, impatient, and Dean started to believe he would have soon seen tears streaming down his brother's face, hadn't he kept on distracting him.

\- Fourteen, sixteen, seventeen and nineteen - he rattled off then, faking indifference while memories made him quiver inside. - This is how old I was. Happy now? It happened only four times.

His little brother's lower lip quivered while he tried to get the words out of his mouth, furious.

\- You shouldn't have let him get away with one.

Dean saw in his eyes what kind of opinion he was forming about their father and could not help but dive headfirst in a mission to destroy it on the spot.

\- Oh please, Sam, I'm still alive! Perfectly healthy and not traumatized at all. The truth is you watch too many shitty movies and believe a good talk can solve everything, but that is not always the case. It can't be.

\- As if Dad ever made the effort to actually talk with us.

It was just a murmur. Sam was tired. Dean didn't even have to hurry, when the boy started to turn around and he had to grab his wrist to stop him. Sam's eyes were more exhausted than belligerent when they met his and this time it was the turn for something in Dean's chest to succumb painfully.

\- Think about what I told you, will you? - he begged, swallowing. - I don't wanna lose you, okay?

Sam stared at him for a long time and during those moments he probably saw more than a big brother who had run after him to take him back home grabbing him by the ear. He saw the prayer that laid in Dean's eyes, he recognized his vivid and vibrant fear to the possibility that Sam decided not to go back home for real. That he stayed out, exposed to the world, defenseless in front of worse danger than that of their father and the punishment he had promised.

Eventually Sam broke free from his grip one more time, but just to reach the closest tree and throw a liberating punch on its trunk, while a cry that would have been able to wrack John Winchester came out of his throat.

\- Sam!

As soon as he saw the blood on the bark and on Sam's knuckles, Dean rushed and tried to draw his brother's hand close to him to examine the extent of the damage, but the boy pulled away and pointed his finger at him, with his face transfigured with rage.

\- If I'm coming back home it's only for you, you understand me? - he panted, pointing the same finger toward the woods they had just gone through. - Not for that one. I don't... I don't want him to blame it on you just because I ran off.

Dean didn't believe his father would have done that sort of thing. But that was the first sparkle of hope Sam granted him and the twenty-year-old would have done anything not to screw it up. So he merely nodded before daring to hint at the woods again.

\- Let's go - he whispered, determined but soft.

After a few moments, Sam nodded yes, but stayed still staring at his feet while a tear finally rolled on his cheek, pouring the exact spot his father had smacked. He had been running barefoot, supported by outrage, but now the soles of his feet were hurting. And while he thought about what was waiting for him at home, it seemed like the whole world was crashing down on him. Dean approached him prudently and put his arm around his brother's shoulders, keeping from putting his lips on Sam's head like he used to do every time his little brother would cry when he was a kid. It felt like ages before.

\- Let's go, Sammy. It's gonna be over soon, I promise.

  



	7. It's not my job to be liked

They came out of the woods half an hour later and Sam stopped before stepping foot into the courtyard, his eyes fixed on the quiet house. He expected to find his father waiting there, outside, staring at the spot where he and Dean would have reappeared, but the porch was deserted and both the old rocking chair and the wooden swing hanging from the ceiling were still. Sam was trying to guess where his father was waiting for him, but Dean interrupted the flow of his thoughts putting a hand on his shoulder to give it a warning grip.

\- If you'll make him come and get you...

\- I'm only going to piss him off more. Yeah, I got the idea, thanks a lot - Sam hissed, starting to move forward again without waiting for him.

He was going back home because of the love he had for his brother, but he still couldn't stand his attitude in that situation. He couldn't bear the fact that Dean had advice to give him, that he knew what was the best way to deal with what was going on, that he was throwing it at his face. Sam knew the twenty-year-old was just trying to help him out, but all those words did nothing but remind Sam that Dean had already been through that shit. More than once. And he hadn't even realized.

Once in the house, Sam reached the kitchen threshold and there he stopped, with his fists clenched at his sides. John Winchester was sitting at the table with his belt within easy reach and slowly looked up at him, as if concerned that any sudden movement could have made Sam start running towards freedom again. Sam saw his dark eyes wander somewhere behind him and understood that his father and Dean had nodded at each other. The man had taken for granted that his eldest son wouldn't have disappointed him.

That was also the first instant since he had entered the house that Sam was fully aware of Dean's presence behind him. Only asking himself what his big brother would have done, Sam found the courage to step up and address his father directly.

\- I apologize for running away, sir.

His voice came out of his throat like a gasp. His father didn't stop studying his eyes, but Sam didn't look away, aware of how much eye contact mattered to John Winchester.

\- Are you planning on quitting that childish attitude of yours?

Anger was still clearly defined in his father's voice, but Sam tried to forget the possible consequences and just nodded. If his escape had made things worse, there was nothing he could do to improve it now. If anything, he could take steps to ensure that it remained stable.

\- Yes, sir - he whispered in spite of the lump in his throat.

\- Good. We can still call it a day at sixteen, then - the man sentenced, standing up again, collecting his belt and folding it with the same aplomb he had greeted his sons with. - Here. T-shirt off and lean on the table.

Sam was about to obey when his brother's voice filled that lethal silence.

\- Excuse me, sir - Dean hesitated, but it was only for a moment. - He's hurt. His hand and feet need care. With your permission, I'll get some antiseptic and bandages before...

John Winchester raised a hand in the air to stop him while he approached his youngest son. Sam stepped back, but his father wasn't looking into his eyes anymore.

\- Show me your hand - he ordered, and the boy obeyed reluctantly, flinching when the man touched his fingers to spread them out. The knuckles of Sam's right hand were still red with dried blood and covered with little pieces of bark, which made his father frown. - What did you do?

Sam lowered his gaze, feeling his cheeks redden with something similar to shame.

\- Punched a tree, sir.

His father wasn't impressed. - What about your feet?

\- I've been running without my shoes.

\- Too bad - John Winchester said, finally letting go of his hand to move closer to the table. - Those can wait. Bend over, son.

Dean shifted somewhere behind Sam's back. - But, Dad...

\- Not now, Dean - his father didn't raise his voice, but froze him with a glance that made both of his boys wince. - Now you better shut your mouth unless you want me to rethink about your punishment and give you the belt too.

After that, everything behind Sam stayed still. The sixteen-year-old forced himself to swallow or else he believed he would have thrown up. Feeling Dean's eyes on the back of his head, he grabbed the edge of his t-shirt and took it off while reaching for the kitchen table with a few shaky steps. While throwing the piece of cloth on a chair and leaning with both hands on the polished wood surface, he wondered how the hell he would have managed to keep on eating on that same slab of wood every day.

In that instant, John Winchester gave him the first clue to understand that his calm was only apparent and that under that the rage grown on his behavior and his cheeky escape was ready to make itself known. With his free hand, the man hit his youngest son's knees, forcing him to jump back. Then he used his foot to make him spread his legs in order for him to have a better balance.

Sam flinched both times and first he hated himself for doing that and then his father for pointing out his weakness making him assume the adequate position, with his back bent and exposed, like a child forced on their parent's lap.

\- This thing is humiliating - he couldn't stop himself from saying gritting his teeth, obliged to stare at the floor.

His father's answer came low but clear.

\- That's how it's supposed to be.

Sam couldn't see him raise his arm, but he heard a whooshing sound beside him and when the belt hit him for the first time on his lower back all the air he had in his lungs came out forcefully. Sam had mentally imposed himself not to let out a single noise, ma a cry between a groan and a scream escaped his lips as soon as the pain exploded. He sucked air through his lips, curved because of the stinging as his eyes were shut, while his fingers clutched to the edge of the table.

\- Son of a fucking bitch, goddamn it... - he blurted out as soon as he was able to talk again.

\- You've just earned two more - his father sentenced laconically, and he interrupted Sam before the boy could protest: - Dean, share the rules with your brother.

The eldest's voice came from the stove, worn out but stable: - You are allowed to scream, to cry, but you're not allowed to curse or offend. You'll get two more. If you try to get away it's five more.

\- Is that clear? - John Winchester's voice came from Sam's right.

Sam swallowed the poison he would have liked to spit on him: - Yes, sir.

For the next five licks, Sam took what he had understood being ad advice from his brother and stopped wearing himself out to look like a tough guy. The lashing of the belt made him scream every time so loud that, had Sam still had the ability to think, he would have wondered what their neighbors would have thought. Even if the closest lived more than a hundred meters away, there was no way they couldn't hear him. Hell was wasting his back and his own voice was at an ear-splitting volume, but he could not hold back.

His father was damn good at using that belt: after every whack, he waited for some time to let the pain reach its peak, then he continued with the same measured heat.

After the sixth whack the belt hadn't left many unscathed spots on Sam's back and the boy found out in the worst way possible. The impact of the leather with his already swollen skin resulted in a burst of pain on a whole other level and the sixteen-year-old started whining without being able to remember the pact of self-respect he had stipulated with himself before bending over. Fearing that his father would have added some extra licks to his punishment had he dared to move closer to the table and bury his face in his arms, he stayed in place, but his legs started shaking badly.

_Eight. Nine. Ten._

His father didn't soften, he didn't take any breaks other than those that went along with his strategy pattern. Oh, he definitely had one. Once got to the eleventh lick, one of Sam's knees gave out and the boy stayed on the ground for a few seconds, groaning and shivering with his head low.

\- Stand up, Samuel. We're not done yet.

Narrowing his eyes and letting the tears he had been holding on until then fall, Sam groped for the edge of the table to lift himself up with some help. The last thing he wanted was making eye contact with Dean while he was getting up and putting himself back under the pressure of that torture. When he assumed the position again, his legs started shivering more than they did before and his sobs shook his chest and filled the room, now too loud for anyone to pretend they weren't heard.

Without mercy, the twelfth whack hit Sam's back right in the center of it and this time the boy was sure his skin had broken.

He barely held the position, but his lips moved without his consent.

\- Dad - he cried, gasping and shaking his head. - Dad, please, stop... I'll never do it again, I swear... I'm sorry, I'm sorry, please stop, I'm sorry...

His tears were wetting the floor. If Sam looked left, he could see Dean's feet, even if all blurry, and they couldn't stop fidgeting while remaining always in the same place.

\- I know you're sorry - John Winchester replied, terribly close.

So close that, when he tightened his grip on the belt, Sam heard it squeak.

\- No, Dad, please...

His begging culminated in a howling that coincided with the thirteenth whack, once again on his lower back.

\- Dad... Dad, I promise I will obey, it won't happen again... I'm sorry...

\- Dad, he's bleeding.

Dean. Dean was trying to save him, he was trying _again_, despite his father's warning. But his voice was unrecognizable, more similar to Sam's begging his father than the confident and stubborn sound his younger brother knew. To John Winchester it was as if a breeze had caressed his hair. Once again, not impressed.

\- Five more, Sam - he announced with a flat tone of voice in spite of his shortness of breath. - I want you to count them and then we're done.

He said that as if he was talking about math homework, but Sam bit his lower lip till it bled not to give in to the temptation to insult him in the worst way he knew. He sniffed and grabbed tighter on to the table surface, then he closed his eyes and waited for the inevitable.

_Fourteen._

\- One - he ranted, breathless.

_Fifteen. Sixteen._

\- Two. Th-three - he mumbled, with the taste of tears on his lips.

A scream tore him apart as much as the stinging did at the seventeenth lick.

\- F-four... - he exhaled then.

For the last one his father took more time and Sam was sure it was all about that sick logic thanks to which that man could give him a hard time also without beating him. At last came the eighteenth whack, the most violent in conclusion.

Sam heard the word "five" drop out oh his lips, but he never remembered pronouncing it. Overwhelmed by the fiery pain wreaking havoc on his back, he finally fell on his knees and curled up on the floor, sobbing and waiting for the knot in his chest to melt to be able to breathe again. As soon as the tremor in his legs reduced, he dragged himself in a sitting position in a corner of the room.

John Winchester had stood still, the belt still folded in his right hand. Sam glanced at him with contempt, but he was short of breath and something was keeping him from expressing his thoughts. A moment later he made the mistake of looking for Dean's eyes. He regretted that immediately: his older brother was looking at him with a new, never seen before pity, and the eyes Sam escaped were full of terror and unshed tears. So his punishment had worked too.

Though he knew Dean was broken because of his state, Sam felt immensely uncomfortable and let his gaze sink on the floor, panting. The silence and stillness of the scene were interrupted only when the sixteen-year-old, exhausted, tried to find relief leaning on the wall behind him. A rush of pain made him jump and new tears wet his cheeks when the weight of the humiliation overwhelmed him like a heavy shower.

That was when John Winchester nodded at his eldest son.

\- Help him. Take him to your bedroom and let him rest till lunchtime.

Sam looked up at him with a quiver.

\- You and your hypocrisy can go to hell - he cried, wiping away his own tears with the back of his hand.

His father's dark eyes considered him from above: - What did you just say to me?

\- I said go to hell! - Sam growled with all his might.

John Winchester moved slowly. Hadn't he been busy hating him with his whole being, Sam would have noticed he needed a good night's sleep. His father took the time to roll up his belt and drop it off on the table, then he moved some steps towards his youngest son. Dean was about to intervene when he realized his father was just crouching down in front of Sam, like he used to do when his sons were children and wanted to show him some awesome bug they had found in the garden, to be able to look him straight in the eye. Frightened and sore, the sixteen-year-old stayed still, staring back at those worn out and strict eyes. His father's words were like spikes stuck in the throbbing bruises on his back.

\- Son, you don't like me? That's fine. It's not my job to be liked. It's my job to raise you right.*

Sam expelled the breath he had held only when his father stood up again and left the room after exchanging a meaningful glance with Dean. The twenty-year-old rushed to his little brother's aid even before John Winchester got to the porch, where he would have started consulting old pages of his diary and maybe writing new ones. The calm after the storm.

*I borrowed this sentence from season 10, episode 10.

  



	8. Yes, sir

  


Sam didn't repel Dean's help. He had lost all his pride before the seventh whack and didn't care about crying while his brother put an arm around his shoulders, pulled him on his feet and encouraged him to keep walking, one step after another, toward the upper floor. Once they got to their destination, Dean sat Sam on his bed and told him to hold on a minute, squeezing his shaky shoulder to reassure him before walking out of the room. He came back at full speed a few moments later, his hands full with a bowl of cool water, a towel and a first aid kit.

Sam was where he had been left, his body shaking with sobs, his head down and the mustard t-shirt crumpled in his hands on his lap. Dean had to punch the pain he felt invading his chest to be able to kneel down in front of him and place all his stuff on the floor without knocking it all over. He clenched his fists to stop the trembling, then he addressed his brother with the determination of a proper nurse.

\- Give me your hand - he only said. But since his brother stayed still, the twenty-year-old put two fingers under his chin and lifted it, carefully but fighting the teenager's resistance. - Sam - he insisted, allowing his voice to soften at the sight of his little brother's tears. - Your hand. Give it to me, please, so I can take care of it.

Finally the sixteen-year-old roused and paid attention to him. While Dean was wiping the blood and bark remains off his knuckles with the towel he had previously soaked in water, drying, disinfecting and bandaging them, Sam kept on sniffing and swallowing his sobs, while the tears fell down his cheeks.

\- Now you can lie down - Dean said once the bandage was fixed with a patch, helping Sam approaching his bed. - Easy, little brother. Easy.

After laying down on his stomach, Sam was still docile. His older brother performed the same procedure on the soles of his feet, which had scratches because of all that running barefoot, and disinfected and patched up the small wounds the belt had cut open on the bruises on his back.

The sixteen-year-old never stopped crying softly, like an injured puppy who can't understand. Dean had no physical wound, not this time, but the sight of his younger brother in that state was driving him crazy. He felt unspeakably bad and the whole time he continued to bite his lip to keep himself from screaming, from going nuts, from tipping all the furniture over and starting throwing punches at the wall. He had never wanted that. He should have prevented that. But he had to hold back, he kept telling himself that. His outburst wouldn't have been good for Sam, who was already dealing with shock, nor for him, because his father definitely wouldn't have appreciated any holes in the wall.

\- Why did you let him do this?

Sam's question came out of nowhere, his voice muffled by crying and by the pillow he had sunk in. Dean felt something break at the level of his heart, but he ignored it and decided that he couldn't afford insecurity, not in that moment, if he wanted Sam to be safe. Once he cleaned his own hands in the wet towel, he leaned over his brother and grabbed his face, forcing Sam to look him in the eyes.

\- You listen to me now and you listen carefully, because I don't want to repeat myself - he stated, firm. - You'll never going to do something like that again. You will not sneak out. You will not go drinking. You will not hang out with total assholes who push you to suicide attempts. You hear what I'm saying? I don't want you to do a single thing that could convince Dad you need to have another chat with his belt. Because I never want to see you in this state again, you little dumbass. Did I make myself clear?

Sam, who had been looking at him with a mix of fear and weariness in his washed-out green eyes for the whole time, got out from under his grip in a wave of anger.

\- You sound exactly like him.

Dean ignored the pang of guilt.

\- I simply want you to understand how serious I am.

\- More orders. Always and only orders - Sam grumbled, using his arms to lift himself and be able to turn towards the wall without leaning on his sore back. - Leave me alone.

Sick of being patient in front of his arrogance, Dean grabbed his shoulder and whirled him around to face him once again, ignoring the cry of pain that escaped his brother's lips when his bruised skin touched the mattress.

\- I'll leave you alone, but first I need your word you'll never do anything that stupid again - he reprimanded him, staring at him with a pair of green eyes that wouldn't have taken any compromise. - Promise me, Sam.

\- Ow, Dean, you're hurting me! - Sam complained, pushing his arm away with a slap before looking at him with accusation. - All right, you have my fucking word. Happy now? It's not like I want to get more of this.

\- I know you don't - Dean nodded, choosing a more accommodating tone. He surely didn't want to push Sam to his limit. He would have started to consider him as bad as their father, in that case. - But it's going to happen again unless you stick to the rules.

Sam studied him for a few moments, trying to read who knows what on his face before deciding to say what had been on his mind since John Winchester had taken his belt off, that morning.

\- We should tell him to fuck off, Dean. This... this can't be normal.

Dean snorted and bent on his knees before getting up from the floor.

\- It's Dad, Sam. We live under his roof. He can punish us, if he thinks it's necessary, and you better remember that.

His younger brother's muffled voice came from the depths of the pillow.

\- This is no punishment. This is abuse.

Dean sighed, picking up his nurse tools before heading to the door.

\- Just get some rest, will you? - he suggested. - And, Sam? - he added, stopping on the threshold to look back at the boy. - You better not let him hear you talking like that.

His younger brother didn't look up. He was now hugging his pillow, one of his cheeks pressed on it, still on his stomach. The spitting image of the child he had been at six, grounded in his bedroom and too proud even to give in to his older brother's jokes.

\- I'm not an idiot - he mumbled, as stubborn as back then.

Dean bowed his head, biting his lip.

\- I know - he nodded reluctantly while he went out, pulled the door over and walked along the corridor toward the bathroom to get rid of all those things that were smeared with his brother's blood. - Quite the opposite, actually. You're far too smart, damn it.

The next day was Monday and Sam insisted to go to school. Dean had warned him about the discomfort he would have suffered, but the sixteen-year-old had more than one reason to take advantage of the opportunity to leave the house. He got back home at four thirty p.m. and found both of his family members in the living room, busy with disassembled guns and books about Japanese esoterism.

\- Where have you been? - his father asked when he saw him, stopping in the act of turning the page. - Your classes were over an hour and a half ago.

Sam only answered because he had to, putting his backpack on the floor and sitting next to Dean with a scratchpad and a pencil for his sketching.

\- Oh, right. I've been busy.

His father wasn't ready to be taken for a ride and challenged his fake indifference.

\- Be more specific.

\- I was at the library for a science project - Sam explained then, his eyes on the paper.

\- You were given a science project to make during the last week of school before summer?

\- Uh huh.

\- Sam - The man's voice became strict enough to force the teenager to look up and witness his eyebrows raising. - You better tell me the truth.

Sam's back was all bruises, so, much to Dean's relief, he didn't waste time on protesting.

\- Okay - he sighed, bouncing the pencil on the notepad. His brother was looking at his guns the way one would look at their lover, but he surely had been listening since the beginning of the conversation. - I had an appointment with the school counselor.

John Winchester frowned. - For talking about what?

\- I wanted to know some stuff about graduation.

His father seemed surprised to say the least, but it was Dean's turn to investigate.

\- You still have two more years of school before graduation.

\- Maybe I don't - Sam revealed, now having a hard time holding back the sensation of triumph he felt. - This is what I needed information about. I asked if there is a way to speed up the whole thing. I have good grades and the counselor told me there is the chance to graduate a year earlier, in the case of students who already proved they are ready to work hard. So I applied to attend more classes, next year. This way I'll be able to graduate next summer.

He wasn't expecting congratulations nor fireworks, but the silence that welcomed his words was a lot to take in. John was the one who continued the interrogation.

\- And why would you want to do that?

\- To leave for college sooner.

\- College - his father repeated the word as if it had an annoying exotic taste.

\- Yes - Sam replied, too enthusiastic about his discovery to see a warning in what sounded more and more like his father's disapproval. - And since we're talking about it, I also want to find some kind of job. Something part-time in a coffee shop, a cinema or a store, I don't know. Something like that.

John Winchester sighed, leaning on the back of his armchair as if that whole speech was too much to handle. - And why on earth?

\- Well - Sam worked up the courage, his lips slipping on a half smile that was meant for himself and for Dean, but definitely not for his father. - I don't expect you to be willing to pay for my tuition fees.

\- And what makes you think I'm willing to let you leave for college?

Sam's joyful smirk was wiped out in one single stroke.

\- You can't stop me.

\- Can't I?

\- You can't - Sam repeated bluntly.

\- We'll see that - John replied, staring at him like he had done the day before. - In the meantime, you're not allowed to look for useless jobs.

\- What? Why?

\- Because you already have a job. Helping me and your brother, at home and on hunts.

Sam bit his lower lip, but he understood he had got too far to go back. He had drawn his father's attention on himself since the very moment he had come home, even if he had sworn he would have kept quiet and behaved normally - even faked nothing unusual had happened the day before - in order to avoid suspects. Damn it, his willpower had succumbed already.

\- I don't wanna do that anymore - he confessed, refusing to regret it despite Dean's confused look.

His father, on the contrary, stood still.

\- Too bad - he only commented, getting up from his armchair and heading lazily toward the corridor. - I'm the one who sets the rules, in case you forgot. No part-time job and no college. Get that out of your head and go take the sawed-off shotguns you have to clean. Dean already did his part before lunch.

In the absence of anything else to hit, Sam threw away his scratchpad and pencil in frustration.

\- You're, like, the only father in the whole world who forbids his son to study and achieve something more than he did!

Sam understood he had exaggerated because the stock of the rifle slid from Dean's hands. The slowness with which John Winchester turned back to him was just an extra clue.

\- Well, this loser is your father - the man hissed. - And you don't get another one.

Finally Sam lowered his gaze, while trying to melt the frozen brick of fear that had invaded his stomach.

\- That's not what I meant.

\- Wasn't it?

\- No, sir.

A second later, Sam jumped feeling his father's fingers squeezing his face in a strong grip.

\- You meant you don't want to be a hunter. You don't want this life.

The boy swallowed hard. - Yes, sir.

The man let him go and the sixteen-year-old sensed Dean's arm muscles relax against his, as if a bomb had just been defused.

\- I'm sorry, Sammy - their father concluded with the same flat voice he had used to order Sam to count the last five lashes out loud. - But I have no intention of letting you nor your brother get away from me. Forget college and all your whims. Finish school fast, if that's what you want, but that will only mean that you're going to start coming on hunts with me and Dean full-time sooner than I thought - A few seconds went by with no escape for his youngest son's eyes. Then John Winchester bowed his head to the side with an inquisitional smirk. - I couldn't hear your answer.

Sam felt the answer he would have actually liked to give scratch the walls of his rib cage, but he gritted his teeth and obeyed like he had promised, crying out in pain, the previous day.

\- Yes, sir.

  



	9. Reaching out

  


It wasn't too long since Sam had returned before John reappeared on the threshold of the living room.

\- Dean - he called, and his eldest son looked up immediately, forgetting the exorcism formula he had been reviewing. Then John Winchester nodded in the direction of the courtyard. - I'll be waiting for you outside.

\- Sure. I'll be there in two minutes, Dad.

Sam, who had instinctively lifted his gaze hearing his brother's name, felt a growing heat invade his cheeks and hurried back to the last dirty barrel of the day. With everything that had been going on, he had almost forgotten: Monday afternoons were a regular fixture for the fight training his father had been imposing since Sam was in kindergarten. Usually it involved both boys, but of course Sam couldn't have achieved much while his back was in that condition, and his father knew it. Sure enough he hadn't called him alongside Dean.

Sam should have been pleased, given how little he liked to be knocked around by Dean during each training session - even though, with age, the youngest was getting better at returning all the blows back to his brother. He even could have read some compassion from his father in it, some sympathy, a taste of respect. But given the fact that he had been the one who had covered him in welts, all Sam felt being left out was a pure distillate of shame.

John Winchester had already got out the main door when Dean got up from the floor to reach the entrance, and Sam followed him straight away. While his older brother sat on the stairs to put on his shoes, Sam took the opportunity to let his rage burst out.

\- Can you tell me why he needs to make everything so hard? Jeez, I just want to go to school! - he snapped, slapping the shoe closet. Sensing only silence beyond his words, he turned to his older brother with a new spark of hope in his eyes. - Dean?

The twenty-year-old was intent on tying the laces of his right sneaker. - Hm?

He wasn't looking at Sam, which wasn't the best precondition, but the teenager didn't give up.

\- I was thinking... maybe you could talk to him about that? Maybe he would listen to you! Like he did that time with soccer.

\- Too bad this is not about you trying out for the high school team - Dean replied without hesitating, standing up with a sudden movement and reaching out for the door handle without even landing his eyes on his little brother's face. - Anyway, I'm busy now. We'll talk later.

Sam would have let him go without a word, blaming the rush Dean was always in when having to obey his father's orders. But he had doubts biting his fingertips.

\- Dean? - he stopped him.

The oldest wavered on the doorstep, without turning around. - What is it?

Sam hardly swallowed, surrounded by a heavy atmosphere. - You don't want me to go to college either, do you?

The silence that followed was worse than getting slapped in the face.

\- Dean?

The twenty-year-old held on to the door handle as if it was the only thing allowing him to stand straight.

\- Put the guns away and make some dinner. Dad will want to eat when we're done.

His voice was flat, so different from the one that had comforted and reprimanded Sam the previous day. And when the door slammed behind Dean's back, leaving Sam with one of the usual orders that seemed to run their family, the sixteen-year-old knew that they were done talking about college. His father would have done anything to segregate him. His brother wouldn't have supported him. And that, after the belt, was the last straw for Sam.

Bobby Singer wasn't used to surprises. As an expert hunter, he had learnt to be suspicious of every unannounced visit and made very clear to every friend and acquaintance of his that a phone call was not only appreciated, but essential, before anyone could show up at his house. So, at dawn on June 8 1999, when a clear creaking interrupted the absolute stillness of the early morning, the man let go of the coffee maker he was loading and picked up the first useful gun he found before heading towards the porch, stealthy.

Without waiting for further reveals, then, he thrust the main door open with a slap and pointed his rifle outside, loading it fast. He was ready to find everything out there - really every thing he knew possible -, everything but one of John Winchester's sons and his wide, frightened eyes.

\- Sam? - he grumbled, startled, lowering the rifle with a confused look on his face. The boy had raised his hands in surrender. - What the hell are you doing here?

Sam hesitated on the edge of a crooked smile.

\- Hello, uncle Bobby.

\- Did something happen? Are your father and Dean here too? - the man continued, taking a look behind the boy's shoulders.

But the sixteen-year-old surprised him once again: - No. It's only me.

Bobby was about to suffocate him with some more questions, but stopped as soon as he had the chance to study the young man's condition. Even though it was just six a.m., Sam looked like he had just come back from a long walk in the woods, with his dusty shoes, his jeans riddled with pine needles and his hair slicked against his sweaty forehead. On his side a duffel bag was hanging and on the point of bursting, and the teenager's backpack was not in a different state. But above all, Sam's eyes were a washed out mix of green, grey and blue that Bobby had only seen in the rare occasions when the youngest Winchester had broken into serious tears.

\- What happened, Sam? - Bobby came back for an answer, this time in a wary voice.

The sixteen-year-old rubbed his eyes with his free hand.

\- N-nothing, I...

\- Everything okay at home?

This time, Sam looked him in the eye before shaking his head.

\- No. No, everything is... it's far from okay, at home.

That was when the old man set his rifle down on the wall beyond the doorstep and moved away from the entrance to make room for the boy.

\- Come on in, kid - he sighed. - If my guess is right and you've been walking all the way from your house, the first things you need are eggs, bacon, toasts and orange juice. And then we'll talk a little, all right?

On Thursday afternoon, somebody knocked firmly on the main door and forced Bobby to get up from his desk and reach the entrance. He put an impudent smile on his face, because he had recognized the lack of elegance that had hit his door, then he opened it and let his sarcasm clash with the solid look on the face of the eldest of the Winchester boys.

\- Dean - he welcomed him with a forcibly neutral voice. - To what do I owe this pleasure?

\- Don't play innocent - the boy replied, already on the point of attacking him. - I know he's here.

Bobby shrugged his shoulders, keeping on counterposing his calm to the twenty-year-old's scornful attitude.

\- If it's Sam you're talking about, sure, he's here. I didn't try to hide it from you.

\- But he did. Neither I nor Dad had any idea where he was - Dean commented, gritting his teeth.

Bobby knew well the young man's aggressive predisposition, but he kept it at bay with a stone-cold glare.

\- Yes, he mentioned his departure was rushed.

\- Just call it getaway - Dean growled, furious. - Where is he? Sam! - he called with a loud voice, trying to see past the figure of the man standing still on the threshold. When he didn't get an answer, he addressed Bobby with the same arrogant inflection. - I'm taking him back home with me.

Once again, the man didn't move a single muscle. After a lifetime of fights, wounds and losses, one of the kids he had helped to raise would certainly not have been able to unsettle him. 

\- He came asking me for hospitality. Going back home is not what he wants.

\- I don't give a shit what he wants, he's my brother and he must stay with his family!

In front of that flawless impression of John Winchester, Bobby barely could keep from shutting him up rudely. Dean was clearly upset, even if not for the same reasons as Sam, and the man that considered himself his adoptive father would have preferred not to rebuke him in such a delicate situation.

\- His family, sure - he nodded then thoughtfully, even if a bitter irony was already tickling his tongue. - Lots of love and an understanding environment where one can grow up peacefully.

Those words made the young Winchester's expression freeze.

\- What did he tell you?

\- A number of things. Some were regular and some others I had a hard time processing - Bobby replied, letting his eyes harden while following his thoughts. - I would have informed John that his son was here, had I understood I was just dealing with an angry teenager who simply needed some time to cool down. But when I saw Sam's back, I almost deleted your father's number from my phone.

\- Sam exaggerates - Dean swallowed, keeping up the insolent tone. - Like when we were little. When I pulled pranks on him with a clown costume, then he wouldn't stop whining for the whole afternoon.

Bobby's eyes narrowed hearing Dean bringing up those episodes, but he recognized a good chance to talk some sense into him and didn't let it slip away.

\- And you got your ass spanked for that every single time, if you remember, for a reason. That's where _you_ exaggerated with your whining. You knew very well your brother couldn't sleep for a week, after that, because of nightmares, but you kept scaring him all the same.

Firstly Dean seemed shocked, but then awkwardness painted his cheeks red when his childhood memories hit his stomach and, much to Bobby's relief, his voice lost much of its impertinent tone.

\- Well, I couldn't sit comfortably for a day or two, in exchange for that, so it seemed fair to keep doing it every once in a while. But what does this matter now?

Bobby frowned.

\- It matters a whole lot, you idjit. Because I never gave you a single swat more than what you could deal with. On the contrary, those bruises on Sam's skin are not something your brother can learn from or handle with a reasonable amount of distress. Those are not a tolerable punishment. They cannot _exaggerate_ \- the man pointed out, straightening his shoulder and shaking his head slowly. - You won't find anything as objective in the whole wide world, actually. They give back exactly what has been given to the skin, Dean. And if you're going to insist to take your brother away, I won't give a fuck about you being a twenty-year-old brat. Dare to stand up for your father and his behavior, try to take Sam away against his will and I'll send you back home with a broken nose.

A stony silence followed, but the talking managed to deflate the boy, who sighed and took a look behind his own back before turning to Bobby with a new sparkle, sorry and worried, in his eyes.

\- Can I talk with him, at least? - he asked, opening his arms in a helpless way. - I have no idea how he's doing. I haven't seen him in days.

Bobby gave him one last warning glare before moving out of the way.

\- All right. But be sure to leave that bully attitude of yours on the porch, kid. Don't think I would be afraid to kick your ass all the way to John's feet.

He got the intended effect: Dean entered the house with bowed head and downcast eyes, as meek as a puppy, and Bobby smiled seeing him hesitate to move forward without the homeowner accompanying him. The man passed him and led him to the opposite side of the house, just outside a room from which came a humming, similar to the sound of music played faraway.

\- Sam - Bobby called, hitting the wide open door with his knuckles, but he had to repeat in a louder voice: - Sam!

Finally the boy, who was sitting at a desk with his back to the door, noticed him and took his Walkman headphones off his ears.

\- You have an insistent visitor.

  



	10. The fight (part 1)

  


Bobby announced Dean and stepped aside, but he stayed in the room to observe the exchange of looks between the two brothers, just in case, with his arms crossed on his chest. As soon as Dean recognized the alarm in his younger brother's eyes, he made haste and assured him he had come alone.

\- I needed to see how you are doing - he said simply, and that was enough for Sam to relax on his chair.

For a moment it looked like he meant to give a hateful reply, but then he sighed: - Better, here at Bobby's.

Dean took a look around the room: at the foot of the bed his brother must had slept in the last two nights was his duffel bag, only half full. Some of Sam's clothes were lying on the head of the bed, while some others peeked out from a half open wardrobe on the other side of the room, as if the teenager had been prey to a hurried desire to unpack but had then stopped just as fast. Maybe he had been caught by a crisis similar to the one which had led him to run away from home. Maybe Bobby had listened to him and had given him reasons to be strong and carry on, leaning a hand on his shoulder and letting him cry until he no longer felt the need to. Basically everything Dean should have done, instead of shutting himself up in the dull silence that had took him as soon as Sam had mentioned college.

Dean's eyes lingered on the desk, which was overflowing with books and notepads. How was it even possible that Sam was really already thinking about university? Was his need to leave so urgent?

\- Dad misses you too, you know.

Those words escaped his lips without his permission. That was when Sam's face hardened and the boy rushed to pick up a book from his desk, put it on his knees and opened it with fury. Dean recognized a clear sign of his anger before his brother hissed his hate.

\- You can tell Dad to fuck off.

Understood that Bobby would not have come to his aid, Dean ran his fingers through his own hair in exasperation.

\- You're making such a big deal out of this, Sam, as usual. Just wait a few days and your back will be as good as new.

Even though he knew where his brother got all that competence in that matter, Sam could not show him any mercy.

\- And I shall forget, right? Like a good little boy. That way, next time Dad has a temper tantrum he won't feel guilty to have another round of strapping, will he? Just look at that lovely healed skin, ready to be wasted again!

Hearing the tone of their voices increase, Bobby dropped a warning: - Boys...

But it was already too late: Dean had saved enough air to start fighting fire with fire.

\- You're an impertinent little ingrate, you know that? Dad would give his life for you and all you can do is getting pissed and running away from home because for the first time in your life you had to bow your head and get what you deserved!

\- Oh, of course! - Sam exclaimed in turn, jumping on his feet to face his older brother and this way making the book fall on the floor. - I am such a bad son, because I want to have friends and go to university! You, on the other hand, are perfect, aren't you? "You're right, Dad, yes sir, go ahead and peel off his skin with your belt, he had it coming"! You liked it, didn't you?

At that point Bobby was sure that, if only the topic of conversation hadn't been the thrashing Sam had got, his older brother would have punched him in the face for suggesting such a thing. Instead Dean, thankfully, just took the brickbat and returned the youngest's glower with fire in his green eyes.

\- Don't you dare imply I didn't try to prevent that with everything I got.

But the sixteen-year-old held onto his evidence, which was clear in his mind as the pain he had been feeling for four days.

\- Prevent it? "Sam, you better cut it out with this rebelling thing. Sam, you can't avoid taking your responsibilities. If you'll make him come and get you it will only get worse, Sam"!

\- I was just trying to help you! - the twenty-year-old erupted, waving his hands in front of his brother's red face.

\- Nice try! I haven't been able to lean against anything since Sunday, because _you_ ran after me and took me back to him and his fucking belt! - Sam finally burst into tears.

Cursing under his breath, Bobby stood between the two of them.

\- Boys, let's tone it down...

But neither one nor the other had something to envy to their father's stubbornness.

\- What else could I do? - Dean burst out, as if he hadn't even heard the man.

\- You could have taken me away! - Sam shouted then, with red cheeks and wet eyes. - You could have taken me away from him, Dean! You could have prevented him from hitting me! You of all people... you know what that's like, you should have told him to fuck off and you should have taken me away from there!

And all of a sudden there was no more yelling and everything became inert, but in a weird and unsettling way, like the silence that strikes a motionless city during a heavy snowfall. Dean's heavy breathing and Sam's broken sobs were all that was left of their fight, the sparks of which were wearing off in the meeting of their gazes.

\- Okay, everyone needs to calm down now - Bobby murmured like introducing a life-saving mantra, but there was no need for that.

Dean's expression had crumbled as soon as he had understood he had been a party of something horribly unfair. Every fiber of Sam, on the other hand, was accusing his brother of having betrayed him: from his stiff arms to his shaking jaw, from his red eyes to the trail of tears running down his cheeks. Bobby had never had any doubt about which one of the Winchester boys had the strongest flair for drama - the memory of the tantrums Sam had been capable to throw as a child just to have one more cookie was enough -, but he had never seen the boy in that state before that very week.

That precarious balance broke when the sixteen-year-old decided to turn his back to both, going back to his desk and books. Dean, hurt, got closer to him and tried to put a hand on his shoulder.

\- Sam...

\- Don't touch me! - the youngest repulsed him, moving away as if his brother's fingers had burnt him. - Stay away from me.

That must had hurt so bad that Bobby thought he heard Dean's heart give out. The man saw him freeze, startled, and swallow the pain of that refusal. Before they reached a new fruitless stalemate, Bobby reached out to touch the eldest's elbow.

\- Dean - he whispered kindly. - Come and help me with dinner, son, come on.

He didn't add that Sam needed some time alone, he didn't add a single thing that could sound like an accusation for one of the boys' behavior and a defense for the other's. He simply got out of the room, trusting Dean would have listened to him, and after a few seconds the twenty-year-old joined him at the kitchen counter with a dejected look on his face. Only after asking him to set the table for three, when the vegetables were already cooking and some steaks were ready to be placed in the pan, Bobby returned to the subject.

\- How long has this thing been going on?

While the man was checking the peas and potatoes, Dean, right next to him, was cutting large slices of bread to toast them and put them in a small basket.

\- What thing? - the boy muttered, his eyes focused on his task. - A father trying to teach something to his sons?

_And here we go again with the apologia for John Winchester. Great_, Bobby thought, tired.

\- No, not that - he replied then, raising an eyebrow. All of a sudden he was not so sure about who was the biggest fan of drama, in that family of jerks he had ended up adopting. - The belt thing. Only and exclusively that - he clarified. And since the boy wouldn't open his mouth, he dropped the wooden spoon in the pan and turned completely towards him to look him straight in the eye. - Listen, Dean, I'm no saint nor a last-minute naive parent. God knows I have a pretty precise idea of how hard it can be to deal with you kids. I saw John raising his voice with the two of you a million times and, if I stop and think about it, I can also remember him showing you and Sam the back of his hand more than once or twice. For Christ's sake, I can safely say I spanked you myself throughout the years, when I didn't know what else to come up with to make you little beasts behave. And I never questioned your father's decisions, because again, I know you boys can be a pain in the ass and being a parent in John's condition wasn't exactly what I would call idyllic. It makes sense to me that he had to slap you both to straighten you up, once in a while.

Sensing his cheeks burn unavoidably while being reminded of his vulnerability as a child, Dean finally granted him his full attention.

\- So what?

\- So this is different - the man continued with no hesitation. - The belt, Dean? Seriously? Besides, used like that? Did you have the chance to take a look at your brother's back?

Dean broke the last piece of bread with his hands and put it with the others in a far too resolute way.

\- Of course I took a look at it. I was the one who took care of it before he ran away.

\- And you're okay with what you saw? The bruises, the welts? Doesn't it look like something that started as a punishment and got a little too far, to say the least, to you?

Dean had a hard time swallowing. - He is my father, Bobby.

\- And my friend. But he can go and sell his ass if he thinks I'm going to hand Sam over to him like a gift bag after such behavior.

Dean studied his face for a long minute after that sentence, but when Bobby remained unfazed he let out a sigh.

\- He... he had no other choice. Sam took it too far, this time.

Bobby raised both his eyebrows, incredulous. - He didn't exactly kill someone, therefore...

Dean jumped like a spring. - He almost killed _himself_, diving in the damned river!

\- I know. He might surprise you, but Sam told me everything about his crazy Saturday night - Bobby nodded, frowning. - And of course your brother needed to understand his mistakes, Dean, I'm not saying he should have got away with it. But the way your father chose to punish him is wrong. He only made him angry, ashamed and hurt. It didn't get a message to Sam other than the certainty that the best thing to do was to put as many miles as possible between him and John. Both you and your Dad need to understand this.

\- There are things we are not allowed to do - Dean grumbled, frustrated by what looked like self-imposed blindness to him. - And if we do them, Dad has to intervene. Sam is just a spoiled brat and is acting like one.

It was Bobby's turn to scrutinize his face before replying.

\- And you are a real man, aren't you? If you have bruises too, tell me now. My ointment is a miracle worker.

\- He doesn't do it every other day! - the twenty-year-old snorted, irritated. - Only when it's necessary. It hurts him too.

He realized he had given voice to a cliché even before Bobby scolded him.

\- Bullshit - the hunter declared as a matter of fact. - If that really was the case, he would have done it differently, I can assure you of that. Did it happen when you were a child?

\- No, it didn't - Dean answered reluctantly, rolling his eyes. He really would have preferred his relatives, adoptive or not, to start minding their own business, at least regarding the punishments his father handed out at his expense. - I was in my teens already. Few times, Bobby. And I treasured them all.

In that moment Sam, who had clearly been eavesdropping the whole conversation, appeared just to steal a piece of bread from under his brother's nose and nod eloquently towards their host.

\- I told you Dad brainwashed him.

Dean tried to smack him on the back on his head, but Sam stepped away from him to go fill the water jug. Well, at least he had stopped crying and he was talking again, even if with his usual sassy attitude.

\- You're twenty, Dean. I can't force you to accept my help - Bobby admitted, checking the cooking of the steaks with a fork. - But there is an extra bed in Sam's room and here everybody gets three meals a day. You know you're always welcome.

Allowing a cunning smirk emerge on his lips, Dean sat at the table next to his younger brother.

\- Next you'll be telling me you don't own leather belts - he joked, giving Sam a little poke.

\- Jerk - the youngest Winchester reacted, irritated.

\- Bitch - the other replied, accentuating his playful smile.

Bobby silenced both of them hitting their heads once with his open hand, before pulling two full plates in front of them. 

\- Now shut up and eat. I demand clean plates, unless you want leftovers for breakfast.

  



	11. The fight (part 2)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: although it may look like I give a positive connotation of John's behavior in this chapter, I just want to make it clear that it is Dean's perspective on the events.

  


After dinner and after washing the dishes under Bobby's supervision, Sam followed his brother through the screen door at the entrance. He watched Dean as he sat down on the porch steps with a sigh and didn't resist more than a few seconds before imitating him. Only then, when they were both surrounded by the lovely warmth of that summer night and by the chirping of crickets all around them, the youngest was able to lower his defenses to address the other with a worried whisper.

\- How are you doing?

The answer was immediate and his brother threw it at him with one of those bold snorts that used to hide the anguish of Dean's sleepless nights: - I'm doing great.

\- Dean - Sam said, insisting for the eldest to look him in the eye. - I didn't want to leave you too. But if you're planning on staying with Dad, there's no other option but to go separate ways.

There, he had pronounced it. One of the unmentionable words that immediately resulted in a glower from his brother. It happened that time too and Sam hoped that didn't mean they would start arguing again. But Dean kept his voice low, he just raised his eyebrows to underline each of his words.

\- You have to give Dad another chance. You owe him.

Entrusting his patience to a deep breath, Sam bent his knees so that they were close to his chest and hugged them, his eyes wandering on the lawn looking for lighting bugs.

\- First he should promise me one thing or two and I don't think this fits his idea of respect for hierarchy - he grumbled before going back to the eldest's serious face. - Why didn't I ever notice?

\- Notice what?

\- That he beat you with that thing.

Dean had to keep from rolling his eyes again. To him, Sam's stubbornness in returning to the subject over and over again was empty and sterile, just like a correction without its context would have been. Dean knew why he had got into trouble every single time and he had to thank his father's punishments if he was aware he had done wrong. If he was aware of it to the point that he would never have made the same mistakes again. Sam, on the other hand, seemed far too eager to judge John Winchester's educational methods and not very willing to admit his own faults.

\- It didn't take long - Dean decided to say in the end. - He managed to do it when you weren't home.

\- I get it, but afterwards... I should have noticed how you felt afterwards.

\- You were little - Dean cut it short.

But Sam's sharp tongue never let him get away with anything.

\- Last time was only a year ago!

Dean gritted his teeth and clenched his fingers around his knees. He wanted to yell at him.

_I kept it hidden from you, all right? I did everything not to let on about my bruises. You didn't need to know that I had acted like an idiot during a training session, that I had put you in danger, that I had screwed up a job or that I had refused to understand that taking girls into our house could have got them killed! You needed a role model, not a fucked up older brother. Hadn't I been that perfect role model for you, you would have started breaking rules and Dad would have made you get the hint beating the hell out of you!_

Dean was so used to Sam's rationalizing efforts that he heard his younger brother's possible answer in his mind too.

_But in the end it still happened, didn't it?_

\- If you only knew how many things you still fail to notice, Sammy - he replied instead, standing on his feet again and staring back at Sam's puppy dog eyes without a blink of an eye. - I have to go or he's going to start looking for me too.

Sam bit his lower lip.

\- Will you get in trouble for staying late?

\- No, I won't - Dean said, laconic. - Finding you was his priority too. You know what he's like. He won't show it, but he hasn't slept since Tuesday thinking you were somewhere out there, dead or alive. Goodnight, little brother.

While Dean was reaching the road with his hands in his pockets, Sam would have liked to ask him when he would have seen him again. But a lump in his throat held him back, because he feared the answer more than he feared his father. So he just nodded goodnight.

\- Bye, Dean.

Bobby observed, through the window, the eldest of the Winchester boys' figure getting off his porch to venture in the night with the sure foot of those who wish to hide their doubts. For the first time since Sam had shown up to his door some days before, the man didn't wonder about what was the best thing to do to protect the kid. Instead, he asked himself how it was best to proceed to put all the pieces of that shabby family back together.

Dean had always been the glue that had held John and Sam together, but this time it looked like not even his power was strong enough to make up for the weird conjunction of errors made by both his father and brother. Bobby would have had to take action and it would have been hard work. He still didn't have a clear picture of the whole story, for starters. Sam had been quite transparent with him, but Dean hadn't given him much information about his father's late modus operandi. That boy was always too busy defending his old man and didn't seem to understand that Bobby was only investigating for everyone's sake.

_And I still need to talk with John_, Bobby thought, sighing while he reached the fridge to get a bottle of beer. _But who knows how long it'll take before he's available to discuss in a civilized manner? God knows how cranky he gets when it comes to his children._

Bobby knew his hunter friend. It would have taken time and patience to heal the rift. Bobby was an independent adult and Dean was full of admiration for his father, it wouldn't have been a big problem for them to deal with that. But Sam was a completely different story. Sam was as hard to break as John Winchester himself. And at the moment he was like a wounded animal: wary in his renewed vulnerability, determined to defend himself with all he had. And his father was his new enemy.

When Dean finally got home, it was late at night. But he wasn't surprised to find his father at the kitchen table, surrounded by maps and by a couple of empty hamburger wrappings.

\- He's at Bobby's - the twenty-year-old informed him.

John Winchester barely looked up, but he reached out for his still untouched bottle of beer, masking a sigh of relief.

\- Is he willing to come back?

Dean dropped on the chair in front of his.

\- Quite the opposite.

John nodded slowly.

\- Let's give him some time.

Dean had decided to shut up, but he finally gave in to his argumentative thoughts. He dropped the sentence as a bait, staying still while waiting for his father to bite, even if he knew his words could make him angry easily.

\- I talked with Bobby. About all this.

John Winchester moved slowly, rubbing his forehead with the back of his hand.

\- Let me guess - he grumbled after a few seconds, his eyes on the beer. - He's taking up the cudgels for your brother. I'm not really surprised by that. He has always had a soft spot for you two.

\- That's not completely true - Dean corrected him. - Actually, he seems to agree with you about the fact that Sam needed to learn, to understand he had made a mistake. But...

\- What?

\- He thinks you got too far. That you didn't deal with this the right way.

That was when his father's eyes shot fire at him.

\- I did what I did for all of us, but above all for Sam. You should know. You should know it had to be done. I was devastated, like every single time I had to do it to you, but I had to for the good of your brother.

That should have been the right moment for Dean to understand he ought not to dare reply once more, but it looked like that train was too far gone. With his mind darkened with fatigue and apprehension, the boy didn't seem to have the option to stop the words from coming out of his mouth.

\- Bobby says that, had you really cared, you would have done it differently.

The man frowned: - Differently how?

\- I don't know - Dean shrugged. - And I don't know if I believe what you did to Sam is so right anymore, either.

\- Dean...

The warning voice didn't have any effect.

\- Why don't you ask Bobby how you should do it differently? He seems to be doing just fine with Sam.

His father's voice became a low growl: - He's not his father, nor yours.

\- Not biologically speaking, no. But he raised us too, didn't he? He should know something about it.

\- Are you saying I don't know how to deal with my sons?

Dean was aware of the many warnings his father was conceding him. Maybe he was doing it because he knew about his son's state of distress, who knows. Anyway, Dean knew he was pushing his luck and that it was weird that, got to that point, his father hadn't already straightened him out using his authority. But the twenty-year-old was so worn out after that afternoon at Bobby's and that fight with his little brother that he couldn't manage to see the limits anymore. And this is how that last poor choice of words escaped his lips while he was absent-mindedly drawing circles on the table with his finger.

\- Well, Sam ran away from home for good. If this doesn't look like a clue to you...

The legs of the chair creaked on the floor and John Winchester was on his feet in a heartbeat. Dean barely had the time to see him coming, his old man's face hardened by rage. Only then he understood how badly he had crossed the line.

\- Dad, I'm sorry, I...

The slap struck him in the face and silenced him. Dean felt his eyes swell up with tears as his cheek started burning, but he didn't make a sound nor lifted a hand to cover the hurt spot. He knew it was purple, he felt it, but he didn't move and didn't look up until his father talked to him again.

\- Don't you have anything to tell me?

The answer came immediately, arising from years of training for discipline: - I apologize, sir. I... I just want Sam to come back home. I'm not comfortable, not having my eyes on him.

He felt his father's fingers insist to lift up his chin and their eyes finally exchanged looks of common concern. 

\- Same thing goes for me, son. But like I told you, we're giving him some time. He's a smart kid, he'll soon understand what's the best thing to do - John Winchester declared in the end, before reaching for his bottle of beer again. - Now you better go to sleep. It's very late.

This time Dean could not dream of protesting.

\- Yes, sir - he nodded, and he was immediately on his feet. - Goodnight, sir.

While he was laying on his bed, Dean thought about that smack. It had cleared his mind and reminded him whom he was supposed to love and be loyal to. It hadn't been an act of violence, to him, as much as it had hurt, but something he had deserved, something he had almost _asked_ with his own behavior. Why couldn't his brother think of it that way too?

The amount of time that John granted Sam was a week. Then Dean found himself forced on the Impala with his hands clenched to his seat, while his father drove like a furious demon. It seemed he had made an effort to keep a calm mask on until when, one morning, he had woken up in an awful mood. Maybe Dean had better not named the Stanford University brochure he had found in the drawer of Sam's bedside table before breakfast, but now it was too late to complain.

Once arrived in front of Bobby Singer's house, John Winchester stopped the car abruptly, got out and marched towards the main door before Dean had sufficient time to unfasten his seat belt.

Violent blows rained on the door and the homeowner immediately appeared on the doorstep to suffer through the growl that came out of the man's throat.

\- Give me my son back.

Used to his pleasantries, Bobby reacted lifting his head.

\- Your son has his reasons not to want to see you, John. And I'm on his side, especially if this is the way you want to play it.

At the very back of the living room, barely hidden by the wall, Sam believed he had heard his father's fingers creak. A moment later, the man had moved Bobby over with a shove and was entering the house with giant steps.

\- Sam! - he called out loud, and when he identified his son, standing a few meters away from him, he pointed his finger at him threateningly. - Grab your stuff and get in the car, we're out of here.

Sam swallowed. Behind his father's back, sequentially, he could see Bobby trying to find his balance again and Dean, in the courtyard, with his face devastated by an anguished look that was so rare on him. He needed a few more seconds, but in the end he was able to look into his father's eyes and articulate the only sound he needed.

\- No.

John Winchester stepped to the side, as if somebody had punched him on his head to confuse him.

\- Did you hear what I just said? Get in the car right now!

\- I heard you - Sam vibrated in response. - And I said no.

\- All right, young man, now I've really had enough of your attitude...

Sam closed his eyes tight. He could already feel his father's hands on him. His father grabbing his shirt, his arm, to drag him unceremoniously to the backseat of the Impala, swearing he would have taken him out to the shed once they got home. Sam was ready, his teeth gritted so he would not allow himself to scream.

But what shook him, instead, was a shocked exclamation. The sixteen-year-old opened his eyes to see that Bobby had intervened: the man was now standing between Sam and his father with his feet firmly on the ground and his rifle pointed. He was forcing John Winchester to move backwards, towards the door.

  



	12. Picking sides

  


Bobby wanted the situation to be resolved, but that didn't mean he was ready to forget what he had witnessed since Sam had appeared on his doorstep on Tuesday morning.

_He had led him into the house and made him a hearty breakfast. At the beginning the boy had thanked him and started eating willingly, but, at some point, just as he had finished his eggs, Sam had frozen with the food still in his mouth. Bobby had been about to ask him if something had gone down the wrong pipe, but the sixteen-year-old had preceded him: having a hard time swallowing, he had placed his fork by the side of his plate before burying his face in his hands and start crying._

_\- Hey..._

_At first Bobby had had no idea what to do. Everything had escalated too fast. One moment he had a hungry boy in front of him and the next Sam's body was shaken with more and more violent sobs. How do you behave with a teenager who apparently doesn't know the meaning of middle ground? At last Bobby had reached him and put a hand on his right shoulder._

_\- Hey, hey, hey, Sam - he had murmured, worried. He had caressed his head in an attempt to make him less miserable, but the boy had stayed still in his isolation. - Listen, you have to tell me what's going on, you can't make me worry like this. I'm sure it's less serious than what it looks like to you. Sam? - he had crouched down beside the sixteen-year-old's chair, shaking his head, and had been about to stroke his back. - Boy, I can't help you if you won't talk to m-..._

_Sam's scream had interrupted him, scaring him away. The boy had jumped to his feet as soon as Bobby's hand had touched his back, and then Sam had looked at the man with his face distorted by tears and a fright that had soon turned into shame._

_\- Sam - Bobby had repeated then, while a suspect made its way into his mind. - What happened? - He had moved a step towards the teenager, watching as the tears started falling again. - I need to know - he had whispered, nodding to encourage him. - And I think you really need to tell me, son._

_Sam had needed a few seconds to be able to take a deep breath._

_\- It.. it was Dad, he... he... I sneaked out, I drank and followed Miles in the river and I shouldn't have, I know, if Dean hadn't been there I would have got into worse trouble, but he... Dad... he said I almost gave him a heart attack and that an apology wasn't enough... that I had to understand..._

_In that moment Bobby had grabbed him by his _ _arms_ _ for fear that he could lose his balance and fall, he looked so bewildered._

_\- Sam - he had called him again, looking straight into his eyes. - What did your father do?_

_That was when Sam had taken off his t-shirt. And Bobby's worst childhood memories had poured into the old hunter's eyes, pulling one major blasphemy out of his mouth._

Once he got to the porch, John's anger overflowed and his shout made the boys flinch.

\- You're preventing me from protecting him!

But not Bobby. He stood firm and loaded his rifle.

\- You stopped protecting him the minute you took off that fucking belt, Winchester - he stated in a cold voice, adjusting his aim. - Now get the hell off my property. You have five seconds before I give you a free buckshot shampoo.

A gaze full of words stood hanging between John and Sam for a long moment. Then the man shook his head ominously in Bobby's direction.

\- Should anything happen to him, you're dead.

Then, without waiting for a reply, he turned around and got back to the car with the furious pace he had arrived with. But his eldest son was still in the middle of the courtyard and was staring at the sixteen-year-old standing in the house.

\- Come on, Dean - his father barked. - Dean! Don't make me tell you again!

It seemed like it took only a heartbeat for the Impala to disappear again in a cloud of sand.

A week went by and Bobby witnessed Sam's progress with gratitude. Thanks to the hunter's wise care, the bruises on the sixteen-year-old's back healed consistently with each passing day. Bobby was a master at the cold-warm treatment and never allowed Sam to go to sleep before being given a generous dose of his arnica and hypericum ointment.

Also, the boy opened up to him, he was at ease. That was a factor that had worried the man very much, upon his arrival: that, without his brother, the teenager's role model since Bobby had met them, Sam could end up shutting himself away and letting his solitude eat him alive. But the sixteen-year-old had some good friends and clear objectives that kept him busy, enough active to be dead tired and sleep tight at night. Of course he missed his brother, it was obvious, and the burden of his escape still worried him. But Bobby could spot a strong personality when he saw one and not for nothing that kid aspired to Stanford law school.

_That dumb bastard of John should only be proud_, Bobby often found himself thinking, shaking his head.

The readjustment week was closed by an unexpected event. Bobby was about to drag himself to bed, that night, when somebody began knocking on the front door forcefully.

_I'm getting worse than a brothel, apparently_, he thought, upset, throwing the door open. Something jumped in his chest at the sight of Dean Winchester equipped with a school trip baggage.

\- Dad will be gone for some time - the boy said, shrugging with fake consternation.

Bobby emitted an incredulous snort.

\- Come in - Only once they were locked inside, the man tried to investigate a little more. - Is everything okay, kid?

\- If you want to know if he hit me, he didn't. He is not the man you think he is - Dean answered, while he kept walking without looking at his face.

\- He is not the man _you_ think he is, either - Bobby pointed out, putting a hand on his shoulder before giving up to his stubborn look and deciding that he had had enough for so late at night. With a nod, he addressed the room that had been arranged for Dean's younger brother. - Come on, off to bed. We'll have a proper conversation about this tomorrow.

\- Yay, can't wait - the twenty-year-old huffed, and he had to start running with a perfect timing to elude the slap that was about to land on his head.

Entering the bedroom, the eldest of the Winchester boys wasn't careful and wasn't quiet, quite the opposite. He threw his bag in a corner, hitting the waste basket with a loud thud, and jumped on the free bed as if he had been waiting for it for days. He did everything to wake up his brother, who was sleeping on the other mattress.

\- Dean?

In the dark, Sam was nothing more than an abundant mop of hair and semi-closed eyes, but Dean gave him a satisfied grin anyway.

\- You liked having a room of your own, didn't you, little brother? Well, fun's over!

He was almost sure he had seen him smile, before Sam mumbled a "jerk" and turned on the other side to get back to sleep.

The following day, Bobby left him alone until the afternoon. Dean had enough time to put his things in order, to catch up on his brother's state and to torment said brother till Sam was sick of him, because Dean had found out that a girl named Miriam would have arrived after lunch to study with the sixteen-year-old. She was the only one, other than Sam, who would have tried to graduate a year in advance and she and Sam had bonded quickly. Dean had loved the news and had been teasing his little brother for hours before Bobby sent him dusting Masonic volumes.

At about five p.m. Dean could finally join the game. Covered in spider webs from the neck of his t-shirt to the hem of his pants, he sat down on the porch, next to Bobby's armchair, and started studying the field in front of him with a brand new grin on his face. Sam and Miriam were both sitting under the only oak and had abandoned their books a meter away from them. The girl had brought a guitar and was teaching Sam to strum his first notes.

\- I think I can see a happy ending there - Dean commented with the voice of an experienced man. - Nicely done, Sammy.

Bobby, beside him, looked at him with an expression that was halfway between annoyed and worried. Maybe he was wondering if he should make him clean the bathroom too.

\- Are you planning on telling the truth, sooner or later, or do we have to keep on pretending everything is great?

Dean looked back at him, confused.

\- I don't know what you mean.

Bobby folded his hands on his lap with infinite patience.

\- We both know John would never give up on taking you with him, not at this age. He's always willing to have you help him with those beasts. So, if I have to expect him to arrive with a cannon held to my head and force me to give him the two of you back, tell me now. Because if things went as I think, meaning you came here to stay with your brother without his permission, that's what it's going to happen.

Dean sighed, capitulating.

\- All right. I wanted to stay, okay? - he confessed. - I had to. My job is to look after Sam, not Dad. Should he come here, you could tell him that - In front of the doubtful look on the man's face, he remarked his view. Jeez, he would have liked to have a beer before having that conversation. - He will be away for a few days, I didn't lie! In the meantime, I'll have some time to make Sam see some sense.

Bobby raised an eyebrow, inquiring.

\- What about the kind of punishment we know? Did you change your mind?

\- Bobby, how many times do I have to repeat myself? I don't think my father sucks because he wants to correct us. That belt hurts like hell, that's for sure, but it works. At least on me. As for Sammy...

\- Hm? - Bobby pushed him, not willing to let the talk go to waste.

Dean looked him straight in the eye, as serious as a gunshot to one's head.

\- I won't let my family fall apart, but I don't want to see my brother in that state ever again either. Not on my watch. Even though it just proves Sam is a girl, listening to him screaming like that was awful. So it's never going to happen again.

Bobby waited for the gravity of those words to settle to the ground before resuming his mild interrogation.

\- And how do you plan to stop your father, should he want to do it again?

Dean didn't hesitate for a split second.

\- Maybe I'll take the blame. Till the end, this time. I won't bend, he'll have to come after me if he gets an itching to hit, because I'm not letting him get to Sam - he swore, now staring at the woods. - And then I'll deal with my brother's education. I'll wear him out with training sessions, here's what I'll do if I'll have to put him back in line. There's nothing better than a nocturnal marathon or a lethal mix of push-ups and crunches to teach him to obey - He took out the last words from his mouth with a rare difficulty before turning to face Bobby once again. - What do you think?

Bobby was about to tell him that the whole business was far more complicated than that. He was about to tell him that not only Sam, but also Dean himself should have demanded a more respectful treatment from his father, from then on. That John would have had to come to terms with his younger son's adolescence, but also that Sam would have had to quit his impudence, because after all he was still growing up and some of his ideas could prove dangerous. All of them would have had to bend and reach a compromise to get back those pieces of heart they had lost during the last few days.

But Dean's words were progress, just like Sam's behavior, and Bobby didn't find it wise to force his hand on that very same day. So all he did was shaking his head, drinking a sip of his beer and giving the boy one of his apparently indignant looks.

\- We'll have to talk about it again, some other day. Soon - he promised. - But one thing I know for sure: you really are the son of a freaking Marine.

Dean laughed, stealing his bottle of beer, still half full.

\- Hey, Sam can't complain. A fine physique like mine comes in handy with girls, and God knows how much help Sammy needs with girls - he chuckled. Then he guzzled down everything that remained in the bottle before leaving it on the porch floor and standing. - Fine, I've been behaving for too long now, it's time for me to go and annoy them. I'm still the eldest, after all - And before Bobby could object, the twenty-year-old was already running and addressing Sam, Miriam and their hesitant melodies like a braggart. - Hey! My brother's girlfriends got to see me first!

As exasperated as he was, Bobby could not keep from laughing when he saw Sam's face, in the distance, become red with embarrassment because of his older brother's interruption. Even though you could already smell the upcoming spat, Bobby got up from his armchair, picked up the empty bottle and got back inside to mind his own business. That girl, Miriam, could totally handle that alone.

And with Dean on watch, nothing bad could have happened to the youngest of the Winchesters.

It was past midnight and Bobby had just come back from the third forced visit to the boys' bedroom. This time, to convince Dean to stop bothering his brother and let him sleep - Sam had a pretty tight schedule because of studying, a schedule Bobby himself had helped him organize -, the fifty-year-old man had decided to threaten him with something more than words, something he was sure the kid remembered clearly. So he had appeared on the threshold with a square wooden hairbrush in his hand. Dean had been caught laughing at his brother's complaints, but all the joy had vanished from his face the second he had noticed the tool in Bobby's hands.

\- This is the last time I'm telling you, Dean: knock it off. Or you can come with me to the living room and I can give you a little reminder of how you're supposed to behave in my house - Bobby had warned him.

The boy had put his head on the pillow right away: - No sir, I like it here, thank you sir.

\- What a wise kid. Goodnight, boys.

Bobby had closed the door and smiled hearing Sam's payback snigger. Now he was in his study, he had put the hairbrush back in its designated drawer and had taken a deep breath before forcing himself to grab his phone. Once he dialed the number, he waited. The third ring was the lucky one.

_\- Bobby?_

John Winchester's voice sounded like it had been through days of complete silence. Ignoring his incredulous and hopeful tone, Bobby remained serious and spoke with the formal voice he saved for unpleasant but necessary conversations.

\- Hello, John. We clearly need to talk. You got a few minutes?

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For everyone feeling sorry for Dean being brainwashed. I consider this an improvement ;)


	13. In need of a father

On the other end the answer was silent and Bobby found himself following effortlessly his interlocutor’s train of thought.

\-  _Did anything happen to the boys?_ \-  John Winchester ended up asking as a matter of fact, a tiny but vibrant hint of anxiety in his otherwise stoic voice.

\- No, nothing happened. Both your boys are fine -  Bobby answered in a low mumble , glancing at the short dark corridor that separated him from  Sam and Dean’s bedroom. Then, suddenly realizing what he had heard, he frowned and gave his full attention back to the phone: \- So you  already  knew that Dean is here too?

A  heavy sigh came from the other end.

\- _It was just a suspicion. This morning, when I woke up, I found his empty bed and a note. It said that he would have dealt with Sam. I had no time to run after him, I had to leave for this job in Illinois. So I took for granted that you would have hosted him too._

\- Yeah, by now I turned into a motel. And a restaurant. Those kids eat like young wolves - Bobby snorted, dropping on his armchair and looking longingly at the bottle of whiskey on top of the small table. \- Anyway, John, the boy acted with the best intentions. I would like you not to judge him too harshly for coming here.

The other man’s voice became tough again. Bobby could almost see his granitic face.

\- _Which of my sons are you talking about now?_

That was when Bobby decided that a glass of whiskey was more than deserved. Moving the phone to his left ear, he talked while pouring himself a generous serving that, he already knew, he would have regretted a few hours later.

\- John, we really need to discuss this. I don’t like the way you’re handling it and there is no way that you can come into my house like you did the other day.

\- _Let’s say your opinion was well expressed by the rifle you kept pulled on me_ \- John replied ready. But a moment later a dignified dejection took the place of his confidence and Bobby could see him moving his hand to his tired eyes, sitting on a bed in a sad motel, alone... and without whiskey. - _That kid, Bobby, that blessed boy… do you know what he did?_

Since there was no doubt they were now talking about Sam, the old hunter nodded with conviction.

\- Yes, I know everything, and I must say I find  it  as alarming as any other teenager’s tantrums. What really worries me about what happened is your reaction. John, it’s been two weeks and a half  and the kid  fully healed just a couple of days ago .

His fellow hunter hid behind some more silence before throwing one more excuse in the conversation.

\-  _I don’t get it_ _, Dean has always responded well to…_

\-  This way of yours of seeing things is exactly the reason why we need to talk - Bobby interrupted him bluntly, with no shame. He was sure that, in spite of all the patience he had saved to get to the end of that phone call, he would not have been able to keep calm if John had forced him to think about the punishments that Dean had endured. That poor boy hadn’t let a single word slip out of his mouth in six years. - Sam is a wreck, but  I heard  Dean talk nonsense about your right to punish him as you prefer! - Trying to calm down again, Bobby took a deep breath and continued with a serious but measured voice: - It seems to me that you forgot the difference between a fair punishment and child abuse.

Bobby thought about his old friend, he could imagine him bite his lips and be just a step away from telling him to fuck off. But what he heard  at last  was a man who was about to shed tears.

\- _Bobby, you cannot understand how hard it was… how hard it was to keep going after Mary… and with two teenagers…_

\-  John Winchester - Bobby stopped him again, cold. - If I’m still talking to you right now and I decided to give you another possibility is just because I know how hard it was for you, let alone your boys. And because I know that once you used to be a father, and not a chastiser. And may I be damned if I won’t put all I got into it, I’ll make you remember how it was and I’ll make you go back to  _that_ you. Sam and Dean need a father who can bring them back in line and prove that he loves them at the same time. They need it and they deserve it, John - he concluded, almost panting because of his rush to say those words out loud to the man who needed to hear them the most. He rubbed his head, cursing himself for being so involved and so in pain for that, then he got back to the talk  with the desire to finish it: - What’s your answer?

Shot in the heart by the lecture, John didn’t make him wait too long.

\- _I think… maybe talking with you would do me good._

Though he felt relieved, Bobby didn’t reveal anything. He didn’t want John to think he had been forgiven, not yet.

\-  How much time do you need for that job in Illinois?

\- _In a week things should go back to normal._

\- I’ll be waiting for you, then - Bobby concluded, and with no further small talk he ended the call.

He then got back on his feet and, with his glass on whiskey still in his hand, he turned to reach the stairs that led to the first floor. But he hadn’t taken two steps yet when a sigh froze in his chest as a wave of fear came over him: there was a silhouette against the threshold of the living room, half hidden by the shadows in the corridor.

Bobby’s hand went to his heart and he rolled his eyes before looking at the shape again. Now his eyes were sparkling with severity.

\-  Bloody hell, boy - he snorted. - That’s no way to walk into a room! I’m almost fifty years old!

The shape moved forward slowly, exposing himself to the faint light that hugged the living room.

\- I’m sorry - Dean apologized, scratching his head with his hand.

Bobby shook his head and swallowed the remaining whiskey in one sip  before gesturing towards the twenty-year-old.

\- Hadn’t I promised you a little something had you not scooted off to bed immediately?

Dean fidgeted on his spot and his eyes quickly looked around to  find the threatening hairbrush, while his brain looked for a way to get away with it one more time.

\- I didn’t bother Sam, I swear! He’s out like a light. And all you said was that I must not keep him from resting.

Bobby found it hard to hold back a smile in front of his efforts.

\- Fair enough - he  admitted, putting the empty glass on the small table before going back to the big, green, not at all tired eyes of the boy. - It’s true that I didn’t forbid you to eavesdrop. But that should be a general rule, don’t you agree?

Dean bit his lower lip, torn.

\- Yes, but… it was Dad, wasn’t it? - he asked at last.

Bobby sighed again, rubbing his eyes. He knew he should have been more resolute, that he couldn’t really think he would have been able to maintain discipline by dint of promises – not with the young Winchesters, anyway. But for some reason that first day of return to togetherness for Sam and Dean represented an exception to him, an exception he needed to respect.

\- Yes, it was your father. I called him.

\- Why? - Dean insisted, frowning.

\- Because I want him to come back here, once he will have calmed down a bit. We need to talk about what happened. Like adults.

Dean nodded, pensive, but a moment later he shook his head,  exasperated, murmuring: - Sam won’t like that at all.

\- Your brother has no reason to worry. I didn’t change my mind, John won’t be able to get him back simply by snapping his fingers - Bobby reassured him roughly and then pointed a finger at him: - As for you, I don’t care who I’m talking with. Nothing gives you permission to eavesdrop my phone calls. Or to stay up after midnight.

Dean inhaled air like a bellows: - But Bobby…

\-  I’ll stop you right there, Dean - the man asserted himself. - I’m glad to have you here. You’re like a son to me and you being here is good for Sam. But if you think you can wiggle your way out of my rules with rhetoric, that ship has sailed. For now I’m being patient, but you know as well as me it is going to end. By then you’ll better  have  started obeying or you won’t like it. If you think you’re too old to get a spanking, then you don’t know me so well. Is that understood?

The redness on the boy’s cheeks was clearly visible under the old light bulbs too. The speed at which Dean nodded and swallowed was enough for Bobby  to understand the talk had hit its target.

\- Yes, sir - he said. - I got it, sir. I’ll behave.

_Sure, of course_ , Bobby thought sarcastically. He knew that look since it had been a brat’s who had been capable of setting fire to the woodshed without thinking about it twice, because “I thought it would be so cool  to watch!”. Anyway the man nodded, satisfied. For the time being, Dean had been taken care of.

\- Very well, then. Now get back to bed, son. We all need to rest - he said, patting him on his shoulder while walking past him. But when he reached the base of the stairs, he stopped one more time. - Dean?

Those green eyes shone again in the dim light.

\- Yes?

\- It’ll be all right.

He couldn’t see him smile, but he heard him distinctively.

\- Thanks, uncle Bobby.

  



	14. Time to forgive

On the afternoon of a very warm day of July,  Bobby Singer opened his front door to find himself face to face with John Winchester. The hunter, whose forty-five years of rough life showed on his grim wrinkles, was apparently wearing the same clothes he had murdered something with: his pants were ripped from the knees down and his jacket was so stained with blood that one couldn’t guess its original color.

Bobby didn’t even raise an eyebrow, he just kept chewing the last bite of his sandwich.

\-  You’re late -  he pointed out.

John shrugged, as unimpressed as him.

\- Those bastards wouldn’t die.

Bobby stayed still, looking into the eyes of the man responsible for all the trouble he had had to go through during the last few weeks, but finally he stepped aside to let the third Winchester of his life  enter his house. He walked his way to the kitchen, slowly but steadily, and stopped to lean on the counter, his arms crossed, while John stalled by the threshold and took a look at the  nearby living room.

\-  No point in looking around, the boys aren’t here - Bobby  informed him, gazing at the other man’s face to be able to witness every reaction. \-  I sent them to the movies.

John sighed, putting his duffel bag on the floor, at his feet.

\-  I suppose they aren’t enthusiastic about me coming here.

\-  I think Dean can’t wait to see his family back together -  replied Bobby, still stiff but sincere.  \- Sam doesn’t know you would have come here yet. That’s whom I would expect a fierce opposition from.

\-  Hm.

John had just nodded and something about it made Bobby’s stomach hurt. He suddenly felt he needed to shake things up a bit, or he would have ended up jumping down his friend’s throat before achieving anything.

\-  And you can’t really blame him for that \-  he added.

There came a  dangerous  sparkle in John’s eyes.

_Got you, old man. _

\-  Of course I can. And I do -  John exclaimed, looking bewildered.  \- That boy disobeyed me, to say the least. He left home at night, without saying anything to anyone, drank irresponsibly and as a result he nearly got himself killed. What was I supposed to do?

\-  Something else - the oldest answered without hesitating,  as  cold as ice.  \- Not what I heard and saw.

John looked at him with pure exasperation.

\- I don’t recognize you anymore, Bobby - he confessed. - You never were against the idea of punishing the boys. On the contrary, for Christ’s sake, you kept my sons in line just reminding them of the last time you had spanked them!

\-  I still do, actually. Ask Dean -  Bobby specified, after closing his eyes for a moment to scrape together some calm.  \- I’m not the one who changed, John.

\-  What do you mean?

The amazement on his face seemed genuine, but Bobby was on the verge of a burst of anger and felt the urgent need to  speak frankly. That broken man would never have figured it out on his own.

\- What do I mean? You really have no idea? -  he asked, frowning.  \- Sit down -  he said, gesturing towards the table. When John complied, Bobby got them two glasses of whiskey before joining him.  \- Before I start listing the ways  in which  you risked screwing up your relationship with your sons once and for all, let’s make something clear: unless I decide you really deserve another chance, I won’t let you anywhere near Sam.  Dean is twenty years old, if he wishes to follow you there isn’t much I can do, apart from using my powers of persuasion. But Sam  came here in tears, asking for my help. He’s sixteen. And unless I see you can be the man you were once again, I’ll be a father to him -  When John tried to rise up, Bobby silenced him with his next words, deadly serious:  \-  Tell me you won’t let me do that.  Get mad. Come on, give it a try. I took pictures of Sam’s bruises and your son is still very angry. In this state, he would be happy to talk with a social worker. You’ll need all my help to get him back,  man.

He stopped talking but didn’t look away from John Winchester’s dark, hard eyes and shaking jaw. He had hit a nerve and he knew it.

\-  Are you threatening me? -  the hunter hissed.

Bobby almost laughed.

\- Oh, John. After all these years, you still don’t understand? I’m trying to save your ass.

He got up to get more whiskey – both of them had choked down their first serving in no time – and to give the man some time to think and to get used to the idea of listening. Bobby had just got back to the table when John’s voice surfaced once again, deep.

\- What do you know?

Bobby took a deep breath, opening his eyes wide.

\-  I  know what Sam did and how you punished him. And I know you punished Dean the same way more than once, even though I still don’t know how many times it happened, or when, or what he had done.

\- And tell me,  then \-  John continued with a sad and annoyed smile, sipping some more of his liquor.  \- What would have you done not to screw it up?

That was when Bobby began looking for something in the inside pockets of his jackets. John observed him in a way that he himself would have defined smug, but he froze the moment Bobby placed some pictures on the table, in front of him. There was no need to take a closer look, John had understood what he was looking at immediately and Bobby knew it.  Nonetheless, the latter allowed the first some time to take the photographs in his hands and lift them to let those awful shots sink in his mind. 

\- The first rule,  Winchester:  no bruises \-  Bobby said in a fierce but cool voice. - Did you try to get it over with when you were still mad at him?

The pictures were some of the ones he had taken of Sam’s back when the results of his father’s handiwork were still black and blue. The welts and scratches on the teenager’s skin were so horrible that soon John had to look away. So different from the confident man he had been until a moment before, with a fist pressed onto his lips to keep from turning his tremors into sobs, he pulled away the photographs  with a brutal push.

Seeing him collapse, Bobby carried on in a low voice.

\- There’s another thing -  he sighed.  \- Did you forgive him?

That made John look up in astonishment. His cheeks were now paler under a  thin layer of  sweat.

\- What? Of course I forgave him -  he assured in a cracked voice.

\- Well, the kid doesn’t know -  Bobby leaned against the back of his chair, trying to remember why he was still angry at his now shattered friend.  \- You clearly didn’t bother to tell him. Or to comfort him after you were done with that belt, if you want to get technical.

John let out a cry, then hid his face into his cupped hands.

\- I…  Bobby… -  he stuttered after almost a minute of gibberish.  \-  I’m so sorry,  but… what can I do now? I don’t want to lose them.  Fuck, I don’t wanna lose my sons.

Feeling he had done enough to torture that man, Bobby sighed before standing and going to pat him on his shoulder.

\-  First, pull yourself together.  Then take your stuff to your room and take a shower. The boys should be here in an hour  or two . We’ll order some pizza and  get the talking done all together.

Relieved,  John scrubbed his face with his rough hands and shook his head a little.

\-  What if Sam refuses to?

Bobby looked him in the eye. He had thought about that question for days before realizing what were the real needs his sixteen-year-old guest was expressing with his daily  behavior.

\- Sam will meet you halfway if you’re going to do the same for him. Trust me.

It was seven p.m. when Bobby and John heard the sound of laughter and steps on the porch. John stiffened a bit, but Bobby kept his gaze on the threshold of the kitchen, waiting for the boys to reach it. Dean was the first and he stopped slowly while a smile appeared on his face at the sight of his father. But Sam, who was right behind him, froze and all the joy built up during a free afternoon with his big brother went down the drain. Bobby forced himself to stay still and wait for his outburst. Geez, he had grown far too fond of that kid.

For several seconds there was only a dreadful silence. Then Sam found his voice somewhere between his fear and his rage.

\- What’s he doing here?

Bobby seemed the only one who could still talk,  but he didn’t answer. He just  nodded first towards the Winchester brothers and then towards the two chairs in front of his and John’s.

\-  Sit down, boys.

\-  Come on, Sam.

Dean tried to pull his brother gently, by his elbow, but Sam didn’t move from his safe place nor gave a single look at his older brother. The sixteen-year-old’s eyes were fixed on his regretful father.

\-  What’s he doing here? -  he repeated.

This time, it was just a whisper  and sounded more scared than aggressive. Maybe that was why his father gathered up his courage and murmured his first words.

\- I’m here to talk \-  His eyes wavered between Bobby and Dean before going back to Sam.  \- To set things right.

A  bitter laughter escaped Sam’s lips and everybody saw his jaw shaking a little.

\- Funny. Really funny \-  he whispered before turning to his brother,  grave .  \-  Call me when he’s gone.

He was about to leave the room, but in that moment John called him in a pleading tone.

\- Sammy…

\- Don’t call me Sammy! -  the boy shouted, making Dean flinch as he turned around once again to face his father. His face was already red with fury and his eyes were wet with tears, no matter how much effort he put in hiding it behind his wrath.  \- You lost that right, you hear me?  You lost it like you lost every other claim on me when you decided to beat me with that thing! Actually, since before! Had I known how you’ve been treating Dean since he was fourteen, I would have told you to go fuck yourself long before meeting your belt  myself!

Bobby didn’t allow those words to settle. He wanted to give Sam the opportunity  to let off steam, but he knew he couldn’t afford to loosen the reins of discipline.

\-  Watch your mouth, kid -  he intervened in a steadfast voice.

Sam’s eyes and their fire ran to him immediately.

\-  What, now you’re defending him?  Did he brainwash you too?

Bobby maintained eye contact, but his voice got softer.

\-  It’s not like that.

\-  Don’t you get it, Sam? -  Dean stepped in cautiously.  \-  He came to talk,  just  to talk.  With you.

Sam lowered his gaze, feeling crushed. One more minute and his lungs would have exploded.

\-  He can take his words and shove them up his ass. I’m out of here -  he croaked before aiming for the door.

That was when Bobby stood up and smacked his hand down on the table  to restore order.

\-  Samuel William Winchester,  you better  stop right there \-  he ordered in a stern voice. At first it looked like Sam had no intention to obey, but then he stopped by the threshold. \- Look at me, boy \-  The sixteen-year-old complied, though his anger was still showing.  \-  Your father came all the way here to apologize. He has to do it, but this doesn’t mean he didn’t need courage and  the  ability to question himself  and his actions. That’s not easy. What you need to do now isn’t easy either, but it’s a sacrifice you owe to yourself and your family. Your father and Dean are doing everything they can to have their family back. Besides, I can assure you that neither I nor your brother turned our back on you. So now you suck it up and get your ass on that chair, because your father came here  for you  with his head down  and now you’re going to listen to him.

Sam swallowed and took a look at his father, but didn’t move.

\-  How do I know he’s sincere?

\-  That’s why I’m here, and I think I did enough to prove I’m on your side -  Bobby nodded before adding more severity to his gaze . - Do you wish to debate this too?

\- No, I don’t - Sam growled.

\-  Fine.

\-  Fine.

Bobby moistened his lips, gathering all his patience not to yell.  That boy was really testing his limits.  Then he  indicated the chair in front of his, gritting his teeth.

\- Sit your ass down n_ow_.  If you wish to be able to sit at all, in the next few days.

Smart enough to recognize a real threat, Sam finally agreed to follow Dean at the table. It only took that short distance for the youngest to set aside his obedient silence and pick up his smartass attitude again.

\-  So, this apology? -  he asked toward his father.

Dean nudged him harder than usual:  \- Sam.

\- No, Dean,  it’s okay.  He’s right \-  John brought peace among his sons, giving a quick touch to his  eldest’s arm. He wouldn’t have dared to touch Sam’s, not yet, and he needed to take a moment and a deep breath before giving his speech:  \-  I owe you both an apology for the way I treated you,  boys . I…  I went too far. I never should have done anything that could leave you… leave marks on you. And I should have been there more for you, in those days but also in general, during these years. I’m so sorry, boys, and I want to make it up to you. I want to go back to being a father, your father, the one I was once -  The words rolled out of his mouth fast, like a prayer you really need to be heard.  \- Could you… can you forgive me for what I’ve done?

There was  an utter  silence for a few seconds and Bobby spent that time studying the plastic look on Sam’s face.  Then Dean smiled and reached out to touch his father’s wrist.

\- Of course, Dad - he whispered, clearly glad of how things had turned out.

While John replied to that smile with a similar comforted smirk, Bobby nodded toward the youngest sitting at that table.

\- Sam,  come with me. Just a minute \-  he explained when Sam got pallid,  probably remembering the warning he had received a few minutes earlier.

The two of them moved to the living room, from where they still could see the kitchen but their words  couldn’t be heard  by John and Dean.  In that safe spot, Bobby put a hand on the boy’s shoulder and looked for his eyes.

\-  It’s a new beginning for everyone, Sam. For your family. Your father is committing to improve, but he needs you to take a step towards him too. It’s called team work -  he said, squeezing him warmly.

Sam bit his lip,  showing his anxiety more now that his father wasn’t witnessing.

\- What if rehab doesn’t work for him? - he finally asked, his voice shaking.

Bobby didn’t hesitate. First of all, he needed Sam to feel safe.

\- I’ll make him go away. And he will not come back. This is his last chance and he knows that. I was very clear.

Sam took a few more moments, then he nodded. He simply nodded and preceded Bobby back to the kitchen, sitting himself down before looking up at his father.

\-  You’re forgiven -  he stated at last, and John let out a sigh of true relief.

\-  Thank you, Sam.  Everything is going to be all right from now on, I promise.

Sam nodded once again, but lowered his gaze on the table and nothing, not even Dean’s arm around his shoulders , was able to make his smile come back. The gleeful afternoon he had spent with his brother looked like a distant memory by then.

\- Very well.  I’m glad you all came to an agreement \-  Bobby changed the subject, clapping his hands once before sitting down.  \-  Now let’s move on to more practical issues. Your father and I talked about it before you came back and decided that all of you are going to stay here at my house until an unknown date. This way I’ll be able to assist your father with everything he’s going to need help with. For the two of you, on the other hand, the rules remain the same. Dean, do you mind sharing them for everyone to hear?  Let’s refresh your memory.

Dean swallowed, remembering several of Bobby’s admonitions. He knew that refresh was meant for him to remember what his place was and for Sammy not to screw everything up with his sassy attitude.

\-  Be respectful. Tell the truth. Perform assigned duties. Observe curfew. Assume responsibilities -  he declaimed, not missing a single word though years had passed since the last time he had said those rules out loud.

\- And?  You probably missed the most important  \-  Bobby insisted.

\-  And obey orders, because, when you give us one, there’s a reason. Always.

\-  Excellent \-  Bobby turned to the sixteen-year-old.  \-  Do you care to remind us of the consequences you will have to face in case you break said rules, Sam?

The boy fidgeted on his seat before nervously clearing his throat.

\-  There’s no chance they aren’t the same of when we were children, is there?

\-  You bet  they are - Bobby raised a smile before putting on his serious face again. \- And you can thank my goodwill if I’m sparing you the time travel, this time. I never want to hear you talking like that again,  son, it doesn’t matter if you have a reason to be angry.  We use words, not insults. You had your warnings, next time  we’ll have to talk about this you’ll be over my or your father’s lap. Is that clear?

Sam bowed his head, his ears getting crimson with shame.  \- Yes, sir.

\-  Good. Come on now, help you father order some pizza. We’re all starving.

It was like if Bobby had broadcast a prearranged signal to fall out. He went to the sink to fill a jug with water, while the Winchesters lived their own embarrassment standing up all at the same time.

\-  Dad? - Dean said, uncertain of how to express his delight.  \- I’m happy you’re here.

\-  Me too, Dean \-  John smiled, patting his back before turning to his youngest, acting natural.  \- Do you have the  phone  number, Sam?

The sixteen-year-old nodded sheepishly, probably still alert because of Bobby’s words.

\- All right, then. Let’s get some food, shall we?

After dinner, nobody stopped the boys from going to bed early. It had been a tiring day, full of emotions, at nine thirty p.m. Sam claimed to be tired and Dean asked if he could retire for the night too. Considering how many things the boys could have wanted to talk about before sleeping, Bobby agreed to do the washing up in exchange for a complete lights out and mouths shut in an hour and a half.

Once the boys were in their room, John left out a heavy sigh. Bobby took a look at him while drying some plates and chuckled, glad. His friend had done everything right during the dinner. There was hope, definitely.

\- It went well -  Bobby declared when John started helping him with the glasses.

The dark haired man raised his eyebrows and put on an unsure smirk.

\- Sam was so jittery.

Bobby thought about it for a minute. He remembered the bruises, the welts and the scratches he had cured and was tempted to remind John that there were deeper wounds that needed to heal.

\- It will change.  Give him time -  he decided to say in the end. - You both need some.


	15. Here's the deal

It was almost supper time on the first full day John Winchester had spent under Bobby’s roof in a long time. The Winchester boys’ father had just had a shower to get clean after a whole afternoon of training with his eldest son. Dean had surely missed his dad, for he had jumped on his feet with a huge smile on his face when, just after lunch, John had suggested – he felt he could not afford to give a direct order, not yet – to practice with guns and rifles. After a couple of hours of aiming and shooting, their energy levels were still high and they had ended up running the equivalent of a half-marathon at a fast pace before returning to the house.  
After his shower, Dean had willingly joined Bobby in the kitchen and was now helping him set the table and cut bread and vegetables. When John got downstairs, he took a minute to look at the results of his son’s good mood before reaching out to pat Dean on the back and reply to Bobby’s friendly grunt with a smile. He then braced himself and took a walk along the corridor up to his sons’ shared bedroom.  
He stopped by the closed door, listening, but there was no sound coming from the room. He sighed. Sam had spent the whole day in there, only coming out for very short times to consume his meals. Although John had been told of his studying plan, that hadn’t prevented him from feeling slightly disappointed when his youngest had turned down his invitation to train a bit together, earlier that day.  
John knocked and politely waited for Sam’s permission to open the door and step into the room. As predicted, his sixteen-year-old son was sitting at the desk, only peeking from his fort made of books.  
\- Hey, Sam. How’s it going?  
\- Good - the boy replied, almost without moving a single muscle. - What do you need?  
John cracked a smile, wondering what could be the most appropriate way to begin the conversation.  
\- Can I borrow you?  
Sam wearily nodded towards the book and notebook left open on the desk, right in front of him.  
\- Actually, I need to finish summarizing this chapter.  
\- Couldn’t you do it later? It’s Dean’s turn to wash the dishes, you are free after dinner.  
Sam winced, wavering: - I kind of wanted to study some more chapters, after dinner.  
John took a few more seconds to look at his youngest son’s stack of compulsory textbooks.  
\- Sam - he then sighed, finally letting his trepidation show, and he waited for the sixteen-year-old’s eyes to be on him to continue. - I’d really, really like to have a chance to talk with you. I know yesterday was tough, but we didn’t exactly mention everything that made you run away. And we need to, you know. We can’t go on like this, you can’t give me the silent treatment forever. You said you forgave me.  
Sam bit his lower lip, but agreed to turn to him, even if he didn’t leave his chair.  
\- All right, then. Can we stay here, at least?  
He didn’t want anyone else to hear. John could understand that, even if the thought of that being because Sam feared his criticism stung somewhere in his chest.  
\- Sure - John agreed with a kind nod and closed the door behind his back before taking some steps forward and sitting on the bed which was closest to the desk. He then interlaced his fingers, took a deep breath and dived into the sea of uncertainties that lay behind every attempt to speak with Sam. - So, Dean told me you spend almost all your time studying.  
Sam shrugged, trying to hide his uneasiness.  
\- Yeah, I guess I do. I also try to do some chores in the house, though, when I’m asked. And Bobby told me I could help with the cars, when he has some to repair, if I want to make some money and save it for…  
He stopped as soon as he realized what he was about to say, but his father nodded to encourage him and ended up finishing his sentence.  
\- For college.  
\- Yeah - Sam admitted, still reluctant and wary. Then, suddenly, it looked like if a boulder had landed on his shoulders. - Are you going to yell at me for this? I mean, if this conversation continues? I’m just… not really in the mood - he confided in a lower voice, glancing rapidly at his omnipresent homework. - Chemistry isn’t really my thing, but I really need to pass.  
John felt something warm him up while looking at the teenage version of the kid who had always been proud to walk to him with his final report card in his hands, when in third or fourth grade, just to add that he should have put more effort in improving his Maths results. And what about Dean making fun of his little brother, pointing out that of course, getting only an A- in his least favorite subject was totally unacceptable? John still chuckled when thinking about Sammy sticking his tongue out as an answer.  
\- What is it you wish to study? - he soon found himself asking.  
Sam looked at him in utter disbelief.  
\- What?  
\- What do you want to study? - John repeated, suddenly conscious of how eagerly he wanted to get an answer. He smiled to relieve the tension he could recognize on Sam’s face. - I may be ignorant about this, but I remember there are several faculties or whatever they are called today. What’s your choice?  
His son didn’t hesitate: - Law.  
\- You want to be a lawyer, then?  
Sam nodded: - Yes, I’d like that.  
John sighed and leaned forward a little bit, wondering if it was still in his power to reassure his son or if those days were just destined to be long gone, nothing but memories in which little Sammy ran to his father’s bedroom and on his bed in the middle of the night, clumsy but adorable in his soft pajamas, crying and calling out for his Daddy. Those usually happened only when Dean wouldn’t manage to wake up first for his little brother, but still, John cherished those memories.  
\- Sam, I know what I said about college - he started off with the hardest part of the conversation. - And I didn’t really change my mind, because the only people I care about in this world are you and your brother and I can’t stand the idea of not being able to watch over you. And to do this, I need you both to stay with me. Do you understand?  
Sam bowed his head, taking a deep breath.  
\- Yes, sir.  
\- But - John continued, drawing his son’s full attention back on him. - I see you’re really putting yourself in the task and that takes strong will and sacrifice. I admire that and I can’t lie, I’m quite proud of you for this.  
Sam’s eyes seemed to shine for a moment, but then the boy frowned. When he spoke, he was extremely cautious, as if the pep talk Bobby had given him the day before was still echoing in his ears.  
\- Last time we talked about this, you told me to forget about college and now all of a sudden you’re proud of me? I don’t get it.  
\- I’m saying I wish I could have given you a life where there’s no doubt you can go to college knowing I’m nothing but happy for you - John explained, choosing his words carefully. - I’m also saying we have been given this life, so we’ll need to compromise.  
Finally Sam looked involved.  
\- Go on.  
\- Here’s the deal. I’ll let you study as much as you like for this college thing. And I won’t make you withdraw your application to graduate in one year instead of two, even if I’d really like you not to hurry things up too much.  
\- You know, I’m really not enthusiastic about this two-in-one thing either. I wish I could take it easier too - Sam declared, rubbing his forehead with the palm of his head. His eyes were tired, but full of interest, even as he approached an uncomfortable truth. - To be honest, the only reason why I decided to hurry things up is…  
\- Me. I can understand - John acknowledged his blame swallowing, then tried putting a little hope on the plate. - But Sam, what if things started to get better between us? You could attend two more years of high school and then, maybe, think about law school.  
Sam thought about it for a few moments, then bent his head on one side and shot his father an inquiring glare.  
\- Why did you change your mind, Dad?  
\- Because there are some preconditions, if you want me to give you my permission for all of this - John answered without blinking, firm once again.  
\- Let’s hear them.  
\- First, I need you to prove me you can do this. I know you’re always been good at school, but I need to make sure you take this college thing seriously through and through. So your grades will have to be good. So good that will earn you a full ride, because we have no money for this.  
Sam swallowed as his heart started beating a little faster.  
\- Okay.  
I’ll definitely take two years to get ready for the admission test, then, he thought.  
But he was surprised to realize that eventuality didn’t make him sad nor angry. Something was telling him that chance, that whole conversation and the paths it was pointing out was a great thing. If it meant not ending his relationship with his father abruptly and alongside not ruining the one he had with his brother for ever, it was worth the wait. Stanford would still have been there in two years time, right? And maybe his father was really someone different from the one who had given him and his brother the belt for messing up like regular teenagers. Maybe things could really work out. Sam was still daydreaming when his father spoke again.  
\- Second thing, you’ll have to keep hunting with me and Dean.  
When he heard those words, Sam’s heart sank a little.  
\- But, Dad...  
\- Studying for school must not distract you from being aware and ready to face everything that goes bump in the night. You’ll have to research and train as much as your brother and you will deal with jobs with me when I tell you to. That is vital and not negotiable.  
There was nowhere to run and Sam knew it.  
\- Yes, sir - he mumbled, trying hard not to pout.  
\- Then it’ll have to be somewhere near here - John Winchester kept on going.  
\- Dad - Sam had a hard time swallowing, because that had been the biggest hit so far. - My goal is Stanford University. California.  
His father simply shook his head, relying on the serious expression on his face to convey his message.  
\- No, it will have to be somewhere close to home.  
In that moment something roared inside Sam and the boy couldn’t hold himself back anymore.   
\- You’re away from home all the time!  
But his father’s gaze made him freeze and the only thing Sam could do next was biting his lip and bowing his head one more time, waiting for a reprimand that was not long in coming but also turned out to be lighter than the sixteen-year-old would have expected.  
\- You will be allowed to attend law school as long as it’s where I can check on you - the man repeated slowly, with just an inch of severity. - Did I make myself clear?  
\- Fine - Sam muttered, but then he met his father’s eyes and corrected himself: - I mean, yes, sir.  
\- All right, then.  
John stood up and Sam felt his head spin. How could it be so easy?  
\- Is that it?  
\- There’s just one more thing I want to ask you - John stopped on his way to the door and smiled hesitantly toward his son, not really ready to open up with him about one of his recurring nightmares. - Try and think about… not going to college. I know you really want to, I get it, but… there’s no doubt I would be happier if you…  
He stopped when he saw a shadow into Sam’s eyes.  
\- If I was less trouble? Just like Dean?  
The boy’s voice was so numb that John didn’t feel like carrying that thing on.  
\- It’s not what I meant - he only made sure to say. - Just… promise me you’ll think about it.  
Sam nodded with difficulty: - Okay, Dad. I will.  
At that very moment, Dean stormed into the room, throwing the door open. If his father had been only a step closer to the threshold, he would have been hit in the face by the twenty-year-old’s impetuosity.  
\- Food’s on the table, bitch, get off your ass. Oh, Dad. I didn’t know you were here - he changed the tone of his voice as soon as he saw John. Then, realizing what the presence of both his father and brother in the same room and without shouts implied, he let a big smile spread on his face. - Did the two of you talk?  
But his father was staring at him with unimpressed harshness.  
\- Do the two of us need to have a talk about your language, Dean?  
The boy straightened his back in one single movement, tensing up.  
\- No, sir. I’m sorry - he muttered, closing his eyes in shame.  
\- Consider this the one and only warning you’ll get from me. Bobby has already given you plenty, I heard.  
\- That’s true, sir.  
While Sam left his desk with a sigh, rolling his eyes at his brother’s embarrassment before walking towards the kitchen, John pointed a finger at his eldest son.  
\- You better remember to watch your mouth.  
Dean nodded, then waited a few seconds to be sure that his little brother had reached Bobby and was out of earshot before turning back to his father. He was dying to know what had been going on in that room during the last twenty minutes.  
\- Dad, how was it? What did he say?  
John put away his parental indignation and sighed, putting a hand on Dean’s shoulder to lead him out of the bedroom and along the corridor. The air was filled with the smell of a good, hot meal, something both John and his sons would have taken a fair amount of time to get used to.  
\- If we’re lucky, he’ll stay with us for two more years. After that, we’ll see. Now come, let’s eat.


	16. Count your blessings

Only five days had gone by since Sam and his father had signed their personal peace treaty.  
Though the sixteen-year-old was very cautious and constantly observing what was happening around him, he would have been ready to say that the new cohabitation agreement was working smoothly. He was continuing to study more than anyone would have done during a summer break – anyone but Miriam –, even if he was almost one-hundred percent sure he would ultimately have decided to give up on the idea of getting an early diploma. After talking with his father, his goal had moved from that to being able to get a full ride at all costs, and he would have needed a decent amount of time for that.  
His brother, his father and Bobby, on the other hand, split their time between the cars in need of repairing and the study of possible new cases of supernatural creatures gone wild that called for their intervention. Now that both he and Sam had gone back to training under John Winchester’s expert guidance, Dean looked totally at ease in their new accommodation too.  
However, nobody was surprised when Dean was the first to run into the consequences of breaking the rules. Sam actually saw it coming, he couldn’t avoid noticing how many little but regular warnings his brother was getting during those few days after their father’s return. It looked like, now that he felt he was no longer the only thin rope keeping his father and younger brother together, Dean was allowing himself to cut loose without counting. And although it was all about some little mischief, Sam didn’t like where that thing was headed. Once Dean had pushed his luck one too many times, it would have been too late to go backwards.  
Dean had the first taste of it on Wednesday afternoon. When, during some research he and Sam were told to do about the preservation of different types of blood, the twenty-year-old deliberately threw a very ancient and fragile book to the ground, all accompanied by a passionate sequel of curses, Bobby’s patience finally snapped.  
Ignoring the boy’s immediate attempt to make up for his outburst – pages had flown everywhere, on the floor of the living room –, Bobby gave no more warnings. He grabbed Dean’s arm and turned him around, so that the boy could instinctively place his hands on the desk, before starting applying solid swats to his jeans-covered backside, fast and for a full minute.  
Sam sat still in his chair, with his fingers pressed on the volume he was reading and his eyes wide, while Dean started squirming in Bobby’s grasp, his eyes shut, though refusing to make a single sound. At the last whack, however, Dean let out a groan and that was enough for Bobby to take a break and look for the young man’s watery eyes to meet his.  
\- I’ve been telling you since you were seven years old, my books are to be treated with respect. They’re everything we have to help us fight those monsters, in terms of knowledge. And if we’re going to need to have this conversation one more time, I promise you I’ll sit on a chair, you will be in a much less comfortable position and it won’t be this short of a session. Understood, lad?  
Dean swallowed, trying not to get away from those angry eyes.  
\- Yes, sir - he croaked, feeling the humiliation burn more than anything else.  
It had been a while since the last time he was punished like that, furthermore while his little brother was watching, and he felt his eyes sting for that even before Bobby gave him five more smacks for good measure.   
\- Good.  
When the man finally let him go, Dean took a step away from him and rubbed his bottom briefly, feeling his cheeks go crimson now that he could see Sam’s face too.  
\- I’m sorry for your book, Bobby - he murmured, since the hunter was still looking at him sternly.  
\- I bet you are - the man replied, pointing at the nearly naked cover of the book which was laying on the ground. - I want it whole by tonight. Glue is in the top drawer.  
After giving that concise information, he simply walked out of the living room. As he was reaching the corridor, John came the other way and halted abruptly seeing his friend’s serious face. Since Bobby didn’t stop for him, the forty-five man looked at his sons and found it easy to put two and two together: a surprisingly quiet Dean was crawling all around the living room, collecting what looked like the worn out pages of the book he was given to analyze in order to do his research.  
Since he could see his eldest’s son upset face and knew how Bobby took care of his books – as well as of the rear of those who dared to put them in danger –, John decided not to rub it in. Anyway, he couldn’t keep from giving his youngest a stern look.  
\- Sam, how do you preserve dead man’s blood for long periods of time?  
Caught off guard, Sam flinched.  
\- I don’t know, I’m… I’m not there yet.  
\- Then how about you stop staring at your brother and go back to reading?  
Frozen by the cold rebuke, Sam was about to comply. But in the end he wavered, biting his lower lip.  
\- May I help Dean, instead? - he asked, looking at his brother scanning the floor in total silence for more pages to put in order, true compassion coming from his puppy eyes. - It’s a thankless task.  
His father actually thought about it, but then realized that Dean probably needed to get that job done without any help in order not to feel guilty anymore. John might had made a lot of mistakes in the past years, but he still knew his sons’ necessities by heart.  
\- It looks to me like your brother brought this to himself - he remarked, then nodded towards the volume Sam was summarizing with the help of a nearby notebook. - Plus, you were given an assignment. I expect you to complete it before dinner.  
Feeling a small flame burn in his chest, Sam was about to react pouting. But one last peek at his father’s eyes had him bowing his head obediently.  
\- Yes, Dad - he gave up in a neutral voice, picking up the line he had abandoned as soon as the now destroyed book had collapsed on the floor.  
Quite satisfied with Sam’s behavior, John turned once again to his eldest and felt sympathy bite his ankles. For some reasons, the sight of his son crouched down on the floor, struggling to find page seventy-four without the slightest complain coming out of his mouth, softened him.  
\- Dean, I’ll understand if you won’t make it on time - he said at last. - Focus on reassembling the book, you will study and report the content tomorrow. I’ll wait.  
Dean didn’t look up, but his words reached John’s ears while the boy was piling yet another bunch of sheets of paper.  
\- Thank you, sir.  
Shot in the heart by that weak voice, John smiled and couldn’t keep himself from touching Dean’s head gently before leaving the room.  
It took several hours for Sam to be able to come up with a decent report and even more for Dean to clean up his mess. By the time the eldest Winchester had finished, the other members of the family were already sitting at the kitchen table, having dinner. Sam, namely, was having a second helping of meatballs when the living room doors slid and a red-eyed Dean appeared on the threshold.  
\- I’m done - he declared once everyone’s eyes were on him. He could sense a change in his father’s approach to him, but he spoke to Bobby first. - Could you check if I did it right?  
\- It’s better if we wait for it to dry up, first - the owner of the house answered, with no sign of bitterness in his voice. As he gestured for Dean to come closer, he stood and began to fill the only empty plate left with rice, broccoli and all the meatballs that had made it through Sam’s last assault. - Come and eat, in the meantime.  
Dean felt his mouth water and moved a couple of steps forward, but then he halted next to the man and shook his head, looking for words.  
\- Bobby, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be disrespectful, I-I know I have to be careful with your stuff. I didn’t want to… when I threw that, I didn’t mean to…  
He stopped stuttering as soon as he felt Bobby put a hand under his chin and lift it up so he could see him smiling.  
\- Thank you for the apology, I appreciate that. Come here - the man added, opening his arms to allow the twenty-year-old to seek comfort in his hug. Dean immediately did and Bobby held him close for half a minute, rubbing his back. - It’s okay, kiddo. You apologized and fixed it, it’s all right.  
The boy let go first and gratefully smiled back at Bobby, who finished setting food in his plate and put it down in front of Dean’s chair. The twenty-year-old was about to sit down, but then he met his father’s gaze and stopped once again, straightening his back. John Winchester wasn’t known to glower at you without a reason.  
\- Dad, I...  
\- Bobby told me what happened. I believe he let you off lightly. What do you think? - his father interrupted him before taking the time to eat a piece of bread.  
Dean turned pale. It wasn’t difficult for him to see what had occurred: seeing him looking for the pages of a ruined book, his father had thought of a mistake, some goofy carelessness that had made Bobby mad. He was so very fond of his library. John hadn’t understood that Dean had done it on purpose, not before Bobby told him.  
That’s why he was so kind, Dean assumed, trying to avoid Sam’s eyes before answering sheepishly.  
\- I think he let me off lightly, sir.  
John nodded slowly.  
\- You should be thankful.  
\- I am - Dean assured, turning to the other man with some new concern in his eyes. - Thank you, Bobby.  
The old hunter raised a hand and shook his head, as to tell him not to worry anymore. He didn’t cut John’s words off, but all of a sudden he was watchful, ready to intervene should his friend exaggerate. But the dark-haired man seemed perfectly in control of both his words and actions, simply willing to make things clear with his son.  
\- You are almost an adult now, Dean. Next time you throw an infantile temper tantrum, you won’t get away so easily - John promised. - I want you to remember that.  
Dean moistened his lips, looking into his father’s severe eyes.  
\- There won’t be a next time, sir.  
\- Very well. That’s what I expect from you - his father nodded, clearly pleased. - Sit down, now. Get some food. It’s late, you must be starving.  
\- Actually yes, I’m quite hungry - Dean admitted, raising an unsure smile while sitting down next to his brother.  
Sam smiled back at him and John put a hand on his eldest’s neck to rub it with affection, whispering a “good boy” and gesturing towards the food. Bobby took a deep breath, allowing himself to relax. Everything was fine.

Sam had gotten a little bit worried for Dean that day, but seeing how both Bobby and his father had handled the matter, leaving his brother with more self-consciousness and no bruises at all, he soon stopped. He hadn’t even talked with Dean about what had happened, because the next day he already had no problem sitting on the hard wooden chairs of the kitchen.  
That’s why, when he heard his twenty-year-old brother protest on Saturday night, Sam looked up from his anthropology book with an amazed and concerned look on his face.  
\- Dad, please! I can help!  
\- I already said no and I also explained why, so stop it.  
What the hell is going on?, Sam thought, frowning.  
That was just a moment before his father and brother entered his field of view, rushing one after the other in the kitchen. Sam sat still at Bobby’s desk, in the living room, and observed the scene without saying nor missing a single word. His heart began racing as soon as he realized his Dad had a machete hanging from his belt, ready for his upcoming hunt, and his older brother was following him with a stubborn look on his face. Bad combination.  
\- But I want to come with you! - Dean insisted, whinier than usual. A clear sign he had already been trying for quite a long time. - Listen, if this is because of what happened yesterday, it was nothing, believe me. I’m fine, I’m ready, I can be useful. I will be!  
Sam remembered and immediately made the dots connect. The day before, during their daily training session, Dean had been particularly sloppy. He was only tired, Sam knew it because he had seen him reading comic books all night long and not getting enough rest, just a few hours earlier. But of course Dean hadn’t told Dad about that. And now he had to deal with the consequences. It was a pity, since he really had been looking forward to hunt down that vampire nest in the nearby town.  
\- Dean, we’ve already talked about this - John Winchester replied patiently, finally turning to his son. - When we trained yesterday, I saw you aren’t ready. You must not take this as a punishment, it’s just a preventive measure. I know it might have been just a wrong day and that you will get back in perfect shape in no time, but I’d rather leave you here today than let you hunt when I have a suspicion that your reflexes are weak.  
Ouch, Sam thought, nearly wincing.  
Dean’s face turned red in no time: - My reflexes are not weak!  
Hearing him raise his voice was enough for his father to lose all his empathy.  
\- Do not take a tone with me, young man - he warned resolutely.  
But it was too late.  
\- It was just one time, Dad! I want to come with you, damn it, I deserve to!  
Dean’s shouting was followed by the thud of his left arm hitting something on the table, where Sam’s eyes couldn’t see. A few seconds later, one of Bobby’s ceramic pots fell to the ground, shattering into pieces. A sudden and awkward silence filled the room, sending chills down Sam’s spine and, the sixteen-year-old was sure of that, down Dean’s too. The twenty-year-old was staring at the broken vase with a regretful look, but his father was looking at him with fire in his eyes.  
\- Are you done? - John Winchester asked after a damn long time, slow and clear.  
Dean looked up to meet his eyes and nodded, swallowing hard in anticipation of what he thought was coming.  
\- Good - his father hissed, leaning closer to him. - Because I will not tolerate you talking to me in that tone of voice ever again. And I will not tolerate you questioning my orders and insisting to change my mind because of your goddamned pride. Do you hear me, boy? Eyes on me.  
Dean obeyed. He had only looked away for an instant, but he was in no position to resist.  
\- Yes, sir. I’m sorry - he mumbled.  
John Winchester pointed a finger at him.  
\- You will stay here with your brother and I never, never want to see that attitude again. I mean it.  
\- Yes, sir.  
Sam was holding his breath when Bobby joined the duo in the kitchen, breaking the tension. He was all set for the hunting night too, and he stopped abruptly seeing John on the warpath.  
\- Is everything all right? What happened?  
\- Dean had a complaint - John said, raising his eyebrows toward his son.  
The twenty-year-old didn’t dare to ignore the hint and bowed his head in front of Bobby.  
\- I got angry and broke your vase. I’m sorry.  
The old man snorted and shrugged.  
\- It doesn’t matter, kid. It was a gift from my late mother-in-law. Brrr.  
\- He’ll clean that up - John promised, shooting a look at the fidgeting boy. - Won’t you, Dean?  
Dean’s ego seemed to deflate in no time. - Yes, sir. I’ll do it right away.  
\- You better - was everything John added before heading outside.  
Bobby sighed, put a hand on Dean’s shoulder and took a look at Sam’s spot before checking the keys of his truck in his pocket.  
\- Stay put, both of you. We’ll be back before breakfast time - he announced then, before following John in the courtyard.  
After that, Sam forced himself to go back to his anthropology homework. He heard the noise of a car engine hitting the road and then, much closer, the sound of shards being gathered up by a broom and a dustpan. It wasn’t much later when Dean threw himself on the sofa, cussing profusely.  
\- Hey - Sam complained. - Easy with those angelic tunes.  
His brother’s eyes shot fire at him.  
\- He treats me like I’m a fucking amateur.  
\- Count your blessings - Sam remarked, raising his eyebrows as he turned the page and started the ninth chapter. - I think he was this close to tan your hide.  
Dean chuckled bitterly, crossing his arms on his chest. - I’d like to see him try.  
That was Sam’s turn to look astonished. - Dude, you’re not serious.  
\- Deadly.  
\- He used the belt on you.  
\- The belt is the real deal. Only sever-year-old brats get spanked and are upset about it.  
Sam preferred not to remind him about a few days earlier, when Bobby’s mild spanking had been enough to silence him for a whole afternoon. And that was just a first glimpse of the punishment to come should he have stepped out of line again, a little more than a vocal warning. Both the brothers knew how those things worked, but Dean was too irritated to recognize the simple truth.  
\- Yeah, sure. Would you really prefer being a belted grown-up? - Sam asked with a sarcastic giggle. - Besides, spankings are nasty at any age, if you consider it’s Dad’s hand we’re talking about.  
That hit a nerve.  
\- Shut your cakehole - his older brother grumbled, annoyed, making Sam laugh.  
\- Or what, big guy?  
Dean’s grin was crucial to make Sam believe everything was under control.  
\- Or there won’t be any macaroni and cheese left for you, smartass.


	17. Senseless, ridicolous, stupid pride

The floorboard creaking woke Sam up when it was still dark outside and only the moonbeams that seeped in through the semi-closed shutters mitigated the otherwise complete darkness.  
Lying down on his bed with only a light sheet to cover his body, the boy turned towards the bedroom door just in time to see it open and a slice of electric light enter from the corridor. At first he didn’t move a muscle, cursing his own name not to have assimilated from Dean the habit to sleep with a gun under his pillow. But a moment later he recognized in the newly arrived an approach which was far too placid to be the one of an enemy.  
\- Dean? - he hazarded then, squinting in front of the sudden light.  
With the corner of his eye he had realized that the bed next to his was empty. The sheets looked crumpled and thrown aside, so Sam gathered that his brother had walked away to use the bathroom or to arrange himself a snack. As soon as his eyes got used to the light, however, it became pretty clear to Sam that the figure on the doorstep didn’t belong to Dean.  
\- Hello, Sam - his father said with a low voice, as if he was trying not to disturb someone else’s sleep.  
The boy slowly sat on the bed, rubbing his eyes.  
\- Oh, hi, Dad - he mumbled.  
John smiled at that sight, because that gesture made his son look a lot younger than he actually was, then moved closer to his bed.  
\- Sorry to wake you up, just wanted to check on you before hitting the hay. Bobby and I have just come back - he explained, and Sam indulged in a breath of relief.  
Both his father and Bobby were home and all right. With the lives they led, it was enough to thank God, celebrate and be grateful at least for a bunch of days.  
\- What time is it? - the sixteen-year-old asked, looking around to find the alarm clock with fluorescent hands he had shoved in his duffel bag when he had run away from home what seemed like a century before.  
\- Five a.m. - his father replied ready.  
\- Any luck with the vamps?  
\- We caught some of them, but lost track of the last couple a few hours ago. But that’s a job for another day, we’re exhausted - John told him, clearly happy about his concern. His face stayed relaxed, although distinctly worn out, until his dark eyes laid on the empty bed on his right. In that instant, he frowned: - Where’s Dean?  
\- Dunno - Sam murmured, yawning soundly. - Maybe at the toilet?  
Since John didn’t add anything and got out of the room as soon as he arranged the sheets to cover his tired son’s body, Sam slipped back into the sleep of the just as soon as his eyes fell shut again. But after those that seemed twenty seconds – that actually were five minutes -, the teenager felt someone shake his shoulder with a gentle but firm hand.  
\- Sam, wake up.  
Recognizing once again his father’s voice, Sam forced himself to open his eyes and tried to map out the contours of the man who had crouched down beside his bed like when he was a little kid. As soon as he managed to, the man’s concerned scowl made it quite clear that there wouldn’t have been more time to sleep, at least not that night.  
\- What’s wrong? - Sam whispered, so confused that he felt like he was guessing the words rather than choosing them.  
\- Your brother is nowhere to be found - John finally declared, tense. - Do you know anything about it?  
And no matter how much strength he was putting in squeezing his youngest son’s shoulder, no matter how much strictness was irradiating through him to keep Sam pinned to the bed, what prevailed in his eyes was sheer terror. The same utter fear made his way into Sam's bowels as soon as he heard the news.  
\- No, I… yesterday night we had dinner, watched a movie and got into bed by midnight. I haven’t seen or heard anything from then on, and then I woke up when you opened the door - he instinctively reported, sitting up quickly. - Dad, where could he...?  
That was when Bobby appeared on the doorway, the same lines of concern of his friend showing on his own face.  
\- John - he called, deadly serious. - The Impala isn’t the only thing that’s missing.  
The other man turned his head suddenly towards him.  
\- What do you mean?  
\- The maps we used to track the vamps’ movements. They’re gone too.  
Sam bit his lips, while his father didn't even try to stop himself.  
\- For fuck’s sake - he exclaimed, getting to his feet. - Do you think he’s…?  
\- We described a bit too much of our intentions on those maps, if you want my opinion - Bobby commented, crossing his arms. - And Dean is smart enough to understand what our plan was. He must have followed our steps, but…  
\- What if he got further? There are two of those sons of bitches still out there, Bobby - John vibrated.  
The two men barely needed to exchange a glance to agree on how to proceed.  
In the end it was Bobby who decreed, without wasting any more time: - Let’s go.  
The landlord had already entered the corridor and John already had one foot out the door when Sam heard the words he didn’t know he was desperately waiting for.  
\- Sam, get dressed. You’re not staying here alone.  
The boy felt a wave of gratefulness warm him just a second before he jumped out of bed.

When Sam realized the fabric of the clothes he had dressed in was too light, it was too late. He was trembling in the back seat of Bobby's van and clutching the edges of one of his older brother's jackets around his body, when Bobby's intervention made him realize that perhaps his shivers were not due to the cold of that summer night. Maybe it was just the fear that something irreparable had happened to Dean that put the chill in his bones.  
\- Sam - Bobby called him, trying to bring him back to reality using the determination of the gaze he exchanged with the young man through the rearview mirror. - We’re gonna find him. He’s gonna be all right.  
\- Not after I’m through with him - John commented, keeping his eyes on the road and clasping his hands around the steering wheel until his knuckles whitened.  
Sam didn't comment, didn't even move. He just closed his eyes and prayed. A small voice inside his head told him that if they had found his brother alive, Dad would have had every right to inflict that knucklehead the punishment he considered fair. But first they would have had to find him. Dean would have had to be fine, Sam would have had to be able to hold him close, breathe in his smell, make sure firsthand that he wasn't in danger, that his brother wasn't...  
John braked suddenly and violently, making the brakes of the car screech. Bobby swore briskly, while with unprecedented readiness he stretched his right arm forward to support himself and his left one back, against Sam's chest, to prevent the boy from jumping to the front and shattering against the windshield.  
\- John, for Christ’s sake! - the man yelled once the car was still and only their agitated breaths remained in the air.  
But his friend paid no attention to him. Sam believed that he was not quite able to hear him at all, while keeping his wide eyes fixed in front of him. His sixteen-year-old son followed the direction of his gaze and understood: about ten meters ahead, lit up by the dazzling headlights of the van, there was a half-ruined log cabin. Dean was on the doorway, blinded by the aforementioned headlights, with his hair, jeans, flannel shirt and a leather jacket that had been John's soaked in blood and a dripping machete hanging from his right hand. Standing. Alive.  
John was out of the van before anyone else could even realize what scene they were looking at.  
\- Dean! - he called in a roaring but still deeply upset voice, rushing forward.  
His son was walking, stumbling every two steps. He was coming towards him, but that simple fact was not in the least sufficient to console a father who was convinced he had the corpse of a walking son in front of him.  
\- Dad - said Dean hoarsely, raising his head towards his parent as soon as he got used to the light.  
A moment later, John Winchester's strong arms were holding him and Dean dropped the machete on the ground, amazed by the rough hug.  
It lasted forever. Or at least, enough for both Bobby and Sam to have the time to get out of the van and take a few steps towards them to make sure Dean was okay. When Sam dared to take a step further than necessary, however, Bobby held him by the arm and answered his questioning gaze shaking his head slowly. There would be time for him, it seemed to mean. Now he had to let his father have what he was owed.  
\- Are you hurt? - John finally inquired, putting his hands on the shoulders of his eldest son and moving him away from himself just to sift through every limb, every stain, every corner of the boy’s body.  
\- No - Dean murmured, still shocked by the embrace. - It's not my blood. I killed one.  
At that point his father's slap turned his face away. If John hadn't kept his left hand on his shoulder with a tight grip, Dean would probably have stepped back and fallen onto the ground. Instead he remained there, on the spot, too stunned to remember not to bring a hand to the affected cheek. Despite being a few meters away, Sam was sure to see his brother's eyes fill with tears and something that sounded a lot like a protest stirred his stomach.  
\- You're such an idiot! - John shouted, shaking his eldest son with little mercy for his renewed fragility. Under his hands, Dean looked more like a frightened child than a young adult. - I was worried sick!  
Not knowing what to replicate, for a long moment Dean kept his lips parted without being able to let out a single sound.  
\- The ... the other one ran away - got out of his throat after a few seconds.  
\- You were insanely lucky with that - John growled, grabbing him by the arm and pulling him as he started walking towards the Impala parked among the trees, just a few meters away. - You won't be with me. Get in the car.  
Dean had the insane idea of resisting. Sam wanted to beg him not to, but he couldn’t intervene. He just couldn’t.  
\- Wait, Dad, let me explain.  
\- I said get in the damn car! - John yelled, giving him a push that made him fall on his knees in front of the hood of the family car. - I don’t want to hear another word from you till we get home or I swear I’m gonna whip your ass right here and now!  
After that explosion, Dean obeyed with the diligence of a mouse. With trembling hands, he reached for the pocket of his pants, retrieved the keys of the Impala, opened the car and went into perfect silence and head down to the passenger seat after leaving the keys on the driver's seat for his father.  
\- See you at home - John said, before getting on the Impala and darting away.  
Sam realized he was staring at the spot where the car had disappeared only when Bobby's heavy hand leaned on his shoulder to attract his attention.  
\- Come on, kid - the old hunter muttered, nodding towards the van. - Better not to leave them alone for long.

When Sam passed through the entrance to Bobby's house, immediately followed by the landlord, he realized that they had arrived just in time before the fireworks began.  
Both hurriedly reached the living room and saw that Dean was sitting still - hands on his knees and eyes looking at the floor - on the sofa, while John Winchester did not seem to be physically able to stop wearing out his soles going back and forth across the diameter of the room that was packed with manuscripts, dust and ancient artifacts. Amidst all that decadent splendor, Dean's shame and fear seemed almost anachronistic, but Sam could feel his fears straight on his skin. If his older brother's heart was beating at half the speed of his, Dean must have been about to vomit.  
\- What were you thinking? - John Winchester exclaimed, stopping abruptly to point a finger at his eldest son, who jumped, suddenly looking up.  
A moment later, frightened by the fire in his father's eyes, Dean lowered his immediately, back to the ground.  
\- John - Bobby warned, standing on the edge of the kitchen, next to Sam. - Take it easy.  
John ignored him, too focused on his eldest son.  
\- Answer the question.  
There were no ways out. Dean licked his lower lip, bit it and decided to pull out a small voice.  
\- I wanted to help.  
\- So you went hunting - John hissed, lethal. - When I had expressively told you to stay here.  
Dean closed his eyelids tightly.  
\- Yes, sir.  
\- I don’t think you really understand the gravity of the situation you put yourself in - John continued, without approaching.  
Sam thought his stillness was the only reason Bobby was refraining from intervening again. On the other hand, Bobby had made his position clear from the beginning: he would not have prevented John from disciplining his children, as long as the punishments would have appeared right and fair to his – almost – neutral eyes.  
But the thing that frightened Sam at the time was that, despite the fact that he feared that his father would exaggerate with Dean as he had done in the past, even in the youngest of the Winchester prevailed the feeling that Dean needed to understand how badly he had fucked up.  
\- You were on watch and you went out. You left your brother here alone and you went hunting alone! Anything, anything could have happened to the both of you because you chose not to listen to me, but to follow your senseless, ridiculous, stupid pride!  
With each sentence, John's voice increased by a tone or two. In the end, his shouting was so well defined that Sam had no idea how Dean found the courage to get out of it that way.  
\- But nothing happened.  
Bobby clapped his hand on the forehead at the same time that John looked at the twenty-year-old as if he wanted to set him on fire.  
\- Excuse me? - he said slowly, astonished.  
\- Nothing… nothing bad happened - Dean reformulated in the face of his disruptive anger, shrugging and making himself small on the sofa. - I killed a vamp and Sammy is safe and sound.  
A silence which Sam considered more dangerous than any reproach shouted to the wind fell in the living room. He knew he wasn't wrong when his father straightened his shoulders, took a deep breath and started talking in a much more controlled voice than before, a voice that bordered on frost and that made chills run up his arms, even if he was not the target of the lecture.  
\- Yeah, well, your ass won’t be for much longer - John sentenced first, and Dean swallowed a whole pile of regrets. - This is not about your luck, Dean, this is about your responsibilities. Do you realize how I felt, how we felt when we found out you weren’t here at five in the morning? When we understood what you were walking into? You could be dead. And you know what, wise guy? Should those vamps have killed you, they could have then followed your tracks up to this house. The house where your brother was by himself, sleeping. There, you see now?  
Clearly, yes. Something had changed in Dean's expression. From fearful but still with a hint of bravado, it became ashen as soon as he realized where his father was getting at: he had endangered his brother. Sammy. His eyes, widened in terror, ran to those of his younger brother, as if to make sure that nothing bad had happened to him despite his risky choices.  
\- I didn’t mean to… I just wanted to…  
\- You wanted to prove me that I don’t know shit about your awesome hunting skills - his father interrupted him, precise as a stab in the heart. - You wanted to show everyone you were right and I was wrong. Because I didn’t take you with me on a single fucking hunt. You, the fiercest and bravest hunter in South Dakota, aren’t you? You could have died - he repeated, letting himself be taken by the shadow of the fury of just a minute before. - You scared me to death. You scared your brother to death.  
Dean shook his head imperceptibly, devastated by the truth.  
\- I’m sorry.  
\- Not as sorry as you’re going to be. You know better than that, Dean. You know better, damn it.  
\- Dad - Dean tried, but his father was no longer looking at him.  
He had gone a few steps away, had passed a hand over his face and was now holding it just under his mouth, torturing his chin with his fingers.  
\- Go to your room - he ordered after a few seconds, now more depressed than furious. - I don’t wanna see you till I’ll be ready to deal with you.  
Devastated by the gravity of that statement - couldn't his father even look at him? - Dean couldn't resist that much without even trying. Rising to his feet, he ventured a few steps towards the man.  
\- Dad, please. Please, I...  
But John burned all his hopes with the last scream, pointing at the corridor leading to the boys’ room.  
\- Get out of my sight now!  
Dean winced and, terrified once and for all, obeyed in a hurry. When he got to his destination, he was careful enough not to slam the door, but he quickly closed it behind him nonetheless.  
In the living room there remained three of them. And once Bobby retired to the kitchen without a word and John, after torturing his neck with his fingers for several tens of seconds, decided to leave the house to let off steam in some way that didn't involve his eldest son's face, Sam was left alone. Standing, trembling and with his breathing accelerated, as if he had found himself in Dean's place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, people! I'm back!  
How did you like this chapter? Please let me know, I always love to hear from you.  
Have a wonderful weekend ^-^


	18. Because I care

Sam sat in Bobby's armchair in the living room until he felt that all the panic that had built up in his chest since he had found out that Dean was gone in the middle of the night had faded.  
He’s home. He’s safe.  
He kept telling himself that.  
He waited for his heart to calm down and for his breathing to return to a regular pace, before getting back on his feet and starting walking slowly, with measured steps, along the corridor, towards the bedroom he shared with his brother. Sam imagined that that self-convincing and meditation process was very similar to that which, at that very moment, both his father and Bobby were testing themselves with. The sixteen-year-old was about to wonder what results would emerge, but he forced himself to dismiss that thought when he raised his fist to knock on the door that Dean had closed behind himself.  
There was no reply. Sam made another attempt, which failed exactly like the first. Then, after about ten seconds spent waiting, he lowered the handle, gently pushed the door and peered inside.  
\- Dean? May I come in? - he called.  
No answer yet. Dean had not turned the light on, but by now it was morning and peaceful rays of sunshine were filtering through the window, through the curtains and the dust that circled in the room. Sam took a few steps inside the room, closing the door behind his back while he took a look around.  
It took a few seconds to find Dean. His older brother had not sat on his desk nor on his bed. Instead, he had chosen to curl up against one of the closet doors at the end of the room, sitting on the floor beyond the two beds. With his feet pointed against the wooden base of his bed, he kept his arms around his knees, holding them to his chest, and his head bowed, as if it had been his father rather than his younger brother who had just entered.  
Also for this reason, as he approached, Sam felt compelled to add: - Hey, it’s me.  
Noticing that Dean's hands were shaking, Sam chose to sit at the bottom of his bed and wait for his brother to make the next move. It took almost a full minute for the 20-year-old to get a word out of his mouth, and when he did it was nothing more than a whisper.  
\- I fucked up, Sammy. I fucked up big time.  
Although he pretty much agreed with the content of that statement, Sam felt so sorry for him that he felt a twinge in his chest.  
\- It’s okay, Dean - he murmured in a compassionate voice, not daring to put a hand on his shoulder for fear that his brother would mistake the gentle gesture for pure pity.  
\- No, it’s not - Dean objected, shaking his head without looking up. He certainly wasn't crying, but he seemed not to have the strength to raise his voice above the level of a whisper. - Dad is so mad, he… he’s never going to forgive me for this.  
\- Of course he is going to forgive you - Sam contradicted him with determination, but another long silence from Dean made him realize that he didn't have the power to reassure his brother, not about that matter. So he sighed, got to his feet and, before leaving him alone, offered him the only comfort that he could give him: - For what it’s worth, I already did.

John had walked back and forth across the entire perimeter of the garage for at least forty-five minutes when his old friend joined him. Had it been up to his wishes, Bobby Singer would have happily stayed at home a little longer, especially considering that the youngest of the Winchester boys had returned from the short visit he had paid to his brother with a long face and his father-like figure didn’t feel comfortable leaving him alone when his mood promised a storm coming. But at that moment, in the center of the hurricane as he was, John was the priority. He was Sam and Dean’s father and also the one who was rebuilding his parental figure step by step, with difficulty, trying to regain both the trust and the respect of his children. Love even, on the worst days. So, at that juncture, preventing John's mistakes meant taking care of all the Winchesters.  
\- Why? Why did he do this? - John blurted out as soon as he noticed that Bobby was heading towards him with his eyelids almost closed because of the rising sun and his hands buried in the pockets of his jeans. - I had specifically told him he wasn’t allowed to go anywhere! It’s not like there was any doubt about it. And we’re talking about Dean. I mean, Dean! It’s been years since the last time he pulled a stunt like this, years! What’s got into him? Everything was finally going fine, damn it! - the man exploded, punching the nearest wreckage.  
Bobby was on the point of holding him back from insisting on that line, but a moment later he considered that there was no reason to. It was much better for John to vent all his anger on the unrecoverable skeleton of some car, rather than to feel the urge to do it on his eldest son, deciding to confront him before having given himself time to let steam off.  
Bobby sighed, leaning back against the frame John had just hit.  
\- Dean is testing your limits - he commented calmly, immediately gaining the full attention of his friend's stern eyes. - He might not even realize this, but I’m convinced he wants to test the waters and understand how serious you are about this, how far he can go before you stop him. He sort of needs to know for sure, I guess.  
At that point, John raised an eyebrow in a way that made him look a lot like Sam.  
\- To know what? - he asked, suddenly still and alert.  
Bobby measured his words cautiously, evaluating the worth of each of them in that fundamental instant.  
\- That his father is really here, now. Here for him.  
John took a few seconds to consider his words, but when he looked back at Bobby there was still a spark of anger that prevailed over his ability to understand.  
\- And does he need to go and look for a punishment in order to be conscious of that? He risked his own life, not to mention Sam’s.  
\- John - Bobby sighed, already feeling tired despite it was just breakfast time. Maybe they all needed to eat something. Anyway, he managed to keep his eyes fixed on John’s. - You know what to do. You’ll do it right.  
At first, the man seemed amazed by that declaration of trust. Once he recovered from the surprise, he bit his lower lip, put his hands in his pockets, let his eyes wander on the old hunter’s land and gave a disconsolate sigh.  
\- I think I need some more time to cool off.  
Bobby nodded slowly, barely hiding his pride.  
\- I think it would be wise. Take all the time you need. We’ll be inside - he added then, nodding towards the house. - Really, John, don’t rush it, all right? Do it for your boys. You did well so far.  
John replied with a weak smile and looked at his friend walking away, while running a hand through his hair. He could almost feel the pressure he was subjected to bubbling in the air around him.

When John got back into the house, the leftovers from the breakfast that Bobby had prepared for himself and Sam were on the kitchen table: the milk and orange juice cartons, a box of cereals and a bag of chocolate cookies. Bobby was at the sink and was washing the few used cups, cutlery and glasses, while Sam sat in the living room. Behind the landlord's desk, the boy was completely taken by the attempt to distract himself from the current situation with a tome of at least a thousand pages about Peruvian folklore and ancient languages.  
John exchanged a quick glance with Bobby, then went into the living room and sat on the sofa with a studied, controlled attitude which soon attracted the attention of his youngest son. Trying to relax with a sigh, his father decided not to beat around the bush any further.  
\- Sam, I want you to go and tell Dean I’m waiting for him. But first come here, we need to discuss something - he announced, putting a hand on the vacant seat next to him on the sofa.  
Beyond the desk and the dusty volume he was holding onto, Sam remained motionless, his eyes fixed on the man.  
\- I have nothing to do with this. I told you.  
Guessing an ounce of fear in his expression, John proceeded with caution, but also with diligence.  
\- Sam, I just mean I need to talk with you. Really, just talking. Please, have a seat next to me - he asked once again, and then waited for Sam to regain some courage and trust and to leave his safe spot.  
When the boy finally reached the sofa and sat beside his father, he was still a bit stiff, but John chose to ignore that. Time. Bobby kept saying that Sam needed time and John would give it to him, no matter what, if it was what it took to have his son’s affection back.  
\- I want to be sure you understand what’s going on here - he resumed after a few seconds, insisting to have Sam’s eyes in his.  
The boy shrugged, doing his best to avoid eye contact.  
\- What’s there to understand? Dean fucked up and…  
\- Language - his father reprimanded him in a warning tone.  
\- Sorry - Sam murmured, sinking a little in his shoulders before trying again: - He messed up and you’re going to, um… punish him?  
John took a deep breath and leaned back.  
\- Your brother acted irresponsibly and needs to learn what he did is wrong on a dozen different levels, so that he’ll never do it again. So yes, I’m going to punish him. But do you understand why I’m doing this? And why is it different from the times I used the belt with you boys?  
He was nervous and the palms of his hands were sweating, but it didn’t look like much to deal with when compared to what Sam was going through in an attempt to pretend to be the most serene person in the universe.  
\- Yeah, you’re doing this because you’re angry that he…  
\- No. No, Sam, I’m not doing this because I’m angry - John interrupted him with firm patience. - I’m doing this because I care. Because I care about your brother. Dean cannot afford to behave like he did last night, he can’t because it’s not safe for him. As a matter of fact, it wasn’t safe for any of us, not just him. And I care enough about your brother to want to be sure he’s never pulling such a stupid stunt like that again and risking his life for it.  
Sam listened carefully, now easily looking into his father’s eyes, and took some time to think about his words once the short speech was over.  
\- So you’re going to teach him not to do it again - he re-elaborated warily.  
John gave him a satisfied nod.  
\- That’s right, Sam. And that’s just because I love him.  
\- But still, you’re going to hurt him - Sam proceeded with even more caution, unable to relegate his most uneasy thoughts somewhere else.  
He had learned to take advantage of the few occasions his father offered him to talk, to really talk, even if it meant risking to provoke his wrath eventually. John admired that, when it was done respectfully, and in that situation he was only happy to have a cooperative and quietly curious Sam.  
\- It’s going to hurt just enough so he can get the idea of hunting alone out of his mind - he explained, crossing his arms on his chest. - The sting is going to last for a few days, at least when it’ll come to sitting down, but there won’t be any bruises. That’s how things worked when he was a child and that’s how they work now, so that he can learn from his mistakes - John paused to put a hand on his youngest son’s shoulder and be absolutely clear about the core issue: - I’m talking to you about this to be sure you understand it’s nothing like the belt. And I’m different too.  
Sam studied his face for a moment, then nodded.  
\- I get it, Dad. I know you’re not going to hurt him. I mean, not in an evil way. I understand you’re doing this because you care about him and I know Dean had it coming. It’s okay, I guess. I understand it has to be done.  
Realizing there was no more fright in Sam’s eyes, just a bit of concern and the sorrow that was now showing on his father’s face too, John felt a wave of relief bring a smile on his face.  
\- I’m glad to hear that. All right, then, enough stalling - he concluded, rubbing his son’s back. - Go call your brother for me, please. And then have a nice walk with Bobby, will you? After this scary night, some fresh air will do you good.  
Sam pieced together half a smile for his old man’s sake and nodded obediently while getting up.  
\- Yes, Dad.

When Dean came out of the corridor, his father was sitting on the sofa and looking down at the floor. He was pouting, as if he was looking for something that had fallen from his hands, but when he looked up to stare at his eldest son his eyes managed to cloud even more.  
Standing in the doorway of the living room, Dean felt his legs turn to jelly. He parted his lips to say something, anything, but in the end the only goal he managed to achieve was to make sure that neither Sam nor Bobby were anywhere near. He felt a little relief washing over him when he noticed that the kitchen was empty and there were no noises coming from upstairs, but that little comfort evaporated from his body when his father broke that utter silence.  
\- Dean - John called him to get his attention, then motioned to the spot in front of him. - Come closer.  
Dean swallowed, but obeyed. Reluctantly, he moved forward and stopped just one meter away from his father. John waited for the boy’s green eyes to meet his dark ones to speak again.  
\- Do we need to revisit the reasons why you’re in this situation?  
Dean dropped his head and bit his lower lip.  
\- No, sir - he whispered.  
\- Very well - his father commented, without letting any sign of satisfaction show on his stern face. - Then get over here. And drop your pants and boxers.  
It wasn't the fact that he was pointing to his knees that made Dean freeze. Of course, he didn't even remember the last time he had been on his father’s lap in order to get a spanking – he couldn't have been more than fourteen years old anyway, since starting from that year John had always chosen to use the belt to handle crucial issues –, but it was since his family had found him at the vampire cabin that he knew how that morning was going to end. No, what immobilized Dean was that last order, thrown there by his father as if it were nothing important.  
\- Wait, I… - he hesitated, feeling his face on fire. - I’m too old for…  
But John Winchester silenced him with just one lethal glance.  
\- I never ever want to see bruises as bad as the ones I was guilty of with that belt. Not on my sons’ skin. Hence, I need to see the damage I’m causing - he explained with slow resolution, to be as clear as possible. - So take everything down or I’ll do it myself.  
Once again, Dean stalled. But, as he felt his heart racing, he realized he was very close to his last chance.  
\- Now, Dean.  
Pushing all of his pride aside, Dean closed his eyes, grabbed the waistband of his jeans and lowered them and the underwear below in a single, fast motion. Then, without requiring any more verbal assistance, he positioned himself on his father’s lap, as instructed, and kept his eyes tightly shut while he laid his torso on the sofa and blindly looked for a pillow to hold onto.  
For a moment, while his father adjusted his position by pulling him closer to his abdomen, Dean thought he had heard the man mumble a few words that sounded a lot like “Good kid”, but an instant later he forgot about that. A second later, his father moved his shirt out of the way, tightened his left-hand grip on his waist and began swatting his naked bottom.  
It was nothing like when Dean was a child. Knowing he was addressing a fundamental lesson there, John spanked mercilessly right from the beginning. During the first moments, Dean clenched his lips and teeth, breathed through his nose and forced himself to remain still and silent, refusing to let even the weakest cry reach his father's ears. He could be in a situation that would fit a little kid best, but he was still twenty years old, damn it. He would not whine like a child.  
He had lost count of the swats but it could not have been more than thirty seconds when something – something still small but by no means insignificant – cracked inside him and the boy sank his face in the pillow he was clawing with his fingers to suffocate the first moan.  
John showed no sign of having heard anything and continued, undaunted, with his hand outstretched, without losing his rhythm, his brow furrowed in an effort to maintain the same rhythm and a precise pattern that Dean was beginning to curse mentally. Right, left, center, right, left, center.  
The boy began to breathe with his mouth. And somewhere along the way he forgot his vow of dignity and started letting faint groans escape from his lips. By now he was too busy trying not to kick to worry about such small things.  
For a while he dared to think that he would be able not to let out a single protest, that he would have proved to be that strong and mature. That belief lasted until his father changed his tactics, starting to target his sit-spots with the same deadly intensity. That was when Dean jumped for real for the first time and John had to put him back to his place with a firm jerk of his left hand.  
\- Ouch… ow! Dad, I’m sorry! - Dean exclaimed as John picked up where he had left off.  
\- Right now the only reason why you’re sorry is because your ass is on the line of fire. We just got started, Dean - the man declared quietly, his face motionless and unimpressed.  
Since the change of strategy seemed to be leaving the right impression on Dean, he insisted on his son’s sit-spots. He knew they were at a turning point when the boy dropped some more of his pride and his voice reached a high peak.  
\- Ow! Please! N-not so hard! It stings!  
Pressing his lips together to resist the pleading voice that reminded him of a much younger Dean, John got back to the boy’s already red butt cheeks, without forgetting to include his sit-spots in his new scheme while he went on without a single break. His hand was starting to hurt too, but he knew it was for the best and didn’t even change the expression on his face as he started lecturing on the top of the spanking and of his eldest son’s muffled groans.  
\- It’s supposed to sting, isn’t it? I guess it’s been some time, uh? But I remember this really worked wonders on you when you were younger. Are we going to make it work this time too, Dean? - he asked, emphasizing the concept with a series of quick and precise smacks that made Dean cry out loud.  
\- Ow! Y-yes… ow! Yes, sir!  
\- So no more disobeying my orders, is that right, young man? - John insisted, lowering his pace but never halting.  
\- Yes, s-sir! - Dean stuttered in between moans, clutching the cushion. - Dad, please! It hurts!  
John checked the clock on the wall and the state of the boy’s backside before deciding it was time to highlight the main issue and get ready for a close that would leave a tough impression on his incautious firstborn.  
\- We’re almost done, son. I just need to make sure you learned your lesson for good - the man announced, applying a few more swats to Dean’s now crimson rear before stopping all at once.  
At first, Dean remained motionless, confused by the inconsistency between his father's words and the fact that his hand had now stopped on his buttocks. A split second later, however, turning his head backwards, the boy noticed what his father had picked up from the ground and jumped violently, trying to escape what had not even started yet.  
\- No no no, please, not that! Don’t!  
Holding Bobby’s hairbrush tight in his right hand, John stopped the twenty-year-old’s attempt to escape and put him back in position using his left arm and hand only. He didn’t add any extra swat to Dean’s bottom, but only because the boy was already shivering slightly and because he knew what he had in mind would have been just enough to wrap it up.   
\- Stay still and listen to me - he rebuked him with an austere voice, while trapping the boy’s legs below his right knee to prevent the kicks he could already see coming. - I’m giving you twenty with this. You can handle them. But try to get up again without my permission and they’ll be more, you understand? This is over when I say it’s over, you hear me?  
He heard Dean taking a deep breath. The cushion had fallen to the ground and the boy didn’t even try to get it back up, having settled for burying his face in his folded arms, against the fabric of the sofa.  
Yep. Finally on the verge of the healthy collapse we need. Come on, boy, break this wall already, John thought.  
Dean’s voice reached his ears like a gust of wind, barely audible.  
\- Yes, sir.  
John just nodded before propping the back of the wooden hairbrush on Dean’s left butt cheek. First, he took the time to make sure there was not the slightest trace of bruising where he had been slapping for a few minutes. When he was certain that there would be nothing but redness and burning for a reasonable amount of hours – that Dean had definitely deserved – after the spanking, he raised his arm and started paddling him with the hairbrush. He had only given a couple of smacks and, knowing the lethality of an implement like that, with a little less resolution than he had done before with his hand, but it was enough for Dean to stiffen from head to toe.  
\- Ow! No! Ow, ow, ow! - he howled, and this time his father couldn’t refuse to recognize the sound of tears coming from the bottom of his throat. - Dad, stop, please! I’ll be good, I promise, I swear, just please, please…  
John squeezed his hip a little, just to let him know he was there for him.  
\- Hang in there, kiddo - he murmured, resolving for get it over with as fast as he could.  
He then applied the last swats he had promised in rapid succession, opting to increase the intensity of the pain felt by Dean in order to ensure him a quick conclusion. He had to shut his eyes when, at the tenth whack, Dean’s crying became loud and clear, but he went on.  
\- Daddy… please, Daddy! Please, no more…  
To be called that way – a word that his children had abandoned even before middle school – John thanked heaven for being so close to the end. He would not have been able to hold out much longer, even if he knew he was doing his duty. Not if Dean had called him "Daddy" one more time.  
Dean's groans became weaker and weaker and, when John finally dropped the brush on the ground, the boy had run out of words and his desperate sobs – a noise that could have broken his old man’s heart - were all that resisted. John stood there, short of breath, and let the boy take all the time he needed.  
\- When you feel ready, you can get up - he said quietly.  
After a few seconds, since Dean seemed to be in no hurry to get up, his father began to rub his back tenderly with his left hand and his crimson buttocks with his right hand, careful to maintain an extremely light touch.  
Dean cried for a few more minutes, but stayed there, with his body abandoned on his father's lap and on the sofa. When finally the only parts of his outburst left were a little tired breath and occasional sobs, John understood his desire to get back on his feet and helped him as he could. Then, forcing himself not to look away from the boy’s red, swollen and wet eyes, he let him put his clothes on again before standing up and squeezing him in a hug that had nothing to envy to the one he had given him when he had found his son in that cabin, a few hours earlier, miraculously unharmed. A sense of relief comparable only to a hot shower after weeks of walking in the open air hit him when he felt Dean's arms surround his waist and return the hug despite the crying still making him unsteady.  
They stayed like that for minutes, Dean with his face buried in his father's tear-soaked shirt and John with his chin resting on his eldest son’s head, the boy he could have lost. Dean could have died of a horrible death, alone in the woods, in the dark. Or worse, he could have become one of the beings he had gone hunting. John forced himself to throw those thoughts away and to help himself he began to caress Dean's back. His son was fine. He was with his family, he was home and hopefully he had learned his lesson. Everything was fine.  
John waited for Dean to give the first sign of wanting to end the hug. And when that moment came, John let the boy wipe his eyes and cheeks with the sleeves of his flannel shirt before putting one hand on his shoulder and using the other to give him a gentle pat on the chin, so as to have his washed out green eyes fixed in the resoluteness of his.  
\- If you go hunting alone one more time, I will spank you every night for two weeks. And don’t you think I will go easy on you, because I simply don’t know what that word means when it comes to keeping you and your brother safe, from yourself as well as from others. It’s gonna be fourteen spanking days in a row, and today? Today will feel like paradise, compared to what you’ll get should you be that reckless again. Are we perfectly clear? - he finished, raising an eyebrow.  
Dean swallowed, but nodded immediately.  
\- Y-yes, sir.  
\- Do you want me to spank you every day for two weeks? - John asked to ensure his lecture came out as effective as it could be, squeezing Dean’s shoulder.  
Dean sniffled and shook his head as fast as he could.  
\- N-no, sir.  
\- Then you better behave, boy. Come here - John wet his lips, pulling the twenty-year-old in another hug and letting out a sigh. - You’re going to be the death of me, son.  
Struck by a merciless wave of relief, Dean let himself go to a few more tears and clung with his fingers to the back of his father's cotton shirt without stopping shaking his head.  
\- I’m s-sorry, Dad. I’m s-so sorry.  
\- I know, kid. I know - John consoled him, stroking his head.  
\- I l-left S-Sammy - Dean went on muttering, shivering. - I… I didn’t mean to make you worry, I just wanted you to be p-proud of m-me.  
John was glad he was taking every single word out of his mind and sharing it with him and it was with satisfaction that he took his son’s face in his hands to gain his full attention.  
\- I am proud of you, Dean. Damn it, I’m so proud - he reassured him and his voice trembled a little, dragged down by his emotions. - But that’s not based on the number of monsters you take down. Your morality is my pride. Your loyalty and your instinct to protect your brother are the reasons why I’m proud of you. Do you understand that?  
Dean returned his gaze with his mouth open for a few seconds, then nodded with shining eyes.  
\- I’m… I’m so very s-sorry - he repeated, as if he wanted to say something else but had no words other than those to express his feelings.  
At least his tears had dried out, as John realized with great relief.  
\- You made a mistake. You admitted it, we dealt with it, now you’re forgiven. You’re okay - he said, caressing his cheeks with his thumbs to remove the last traces of tears. - It’s all in the past now.  
Dean nodded and allowed himself some more time to be cuddled by his father’s strong arms.

When Dean woke up on the sofa, covered by one of Bobby’s old but clean blankets, the house was silent. But it was not the kind of tense silence that precedes a catastrophe. If anything, it was a well-deserved calm. The boy did not even have time to dwell too much on the massive heat that radiated from his rear, since the doors that connected the living room to the kitchen opened and Sam came in with a plate in one hand and a glass full of iced water in the other. Realizing that his older brother was awake, the sixteen-year-old smiled and closed the doors with his elbow before reaching him.  
\- Um, I thought you might be hungry - he declared, placing his gifts on the table in front of the sofa. - And you also might not feel like coming to the kitchen so soon, so I brought you something.  
Dean leaned over to peek at the contents of the plate.  
\- What's that? - he asked, recognizing one of Sammy's culinary experiments.  
He had put some vegetables on that plate, but fortunately there was also bread and an embarrassing amount of fries.  
\- Late lunch. Dad told me not to wake you up when we ate, because you needed to rest. But the last time you ate something was yesterday evening, am I right? - Sam shrugged. - You could also call it comfort food, though.  
\- Hm, a comfort lunch - Dean considered cheerfully, reaching out to grab a few fries and put them in his mouth. - Thanks, Sammy.  
The youngest smiled in front of his enthusiasm and threw himself into the armchair next to the sofa. For a while he just watched his brother take big bites of bread and even try to taste the cauliflower, but after a while he could no longer restrain himself from talking.  
\- Dean?  
\- Hm?  
\- I'm glad you're alive.  
Caught by surprise, Dean lifted his head and considered the concern in his brother's eyes.  
\- Me too - he said after a little while, smiling at him to induce the boy to do the same.  
It didn’t take a long time for Sam to smile too, happy as he was to see that his brother's mood was the best he could possibly have imagined. Perhaps the sleep he had enjoyed after their father's lesson had been the proverbial godsend.  
\- I guess it was worth Dad toasting your ass - Sam took a risk, crossing his legs.  
To his amazement, even that failed to upset Dean and his meal.  
\- Yeah - the twenty-year-old admitted. - I think it was too.  
\- Are you all right, then? - Sam wanted to make sure, looking for his eyes.  
\- Actually, I am - Dean nodded calmly, giving him the desired eye contact. - I had it coming, but I also kind of needed it, you know? I feel quiet now. Now that I know Dad has forgiven me - He thought about it for a few seconds, then shrugged. - I guess I understand how he felt when we hadn't forgiven him for beating us. Forgiveness is freeing, you know? Hell, maybe even a spanking can be.  
Sam chuckled.  
\- Look at you, getting all philosophical.  
\- Shut up - his brother admonished him, throwing a pillow at his face before bursting out laughing with him. - Wanna share the fries, bitch?  
Sam gave him one of his clever smirks.  
\- Sure. Jerk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, beautiful people!  
Lately I've been having some more time to write, so I hope you'll be happy to find a new chapter so soon :)  
Let me know what you think about it, please!  
And take care, always.  
See you soon!


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